


Over My Dad Body

by nonbinaryspock



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman: The Animated Series
Genre: Character(s) of Color, Dad AU, Dating, Dream Daddy AU, M/M, Multi, Trans Character(s), dream daddy: gotham edition, lots of dating, they all live in the same neighborhood except bruce bc he's rich
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-09-25
Packaged: 2019-06-08 08:11:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 52
Words: 26,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15239118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nonbinaryspock/pseuds/nonbinaryspock
Summary: Edward Nygma and his daughter have recently moved to Gotham after his untimely dismissal from his old job at Competitron. In a series of interesting coincedinces and meet-cutes, Edward becomes accquainted with a group of eligible dads living right in his own neighborhood. Now it's up to him to navigate raising a teenage girl by himself, a new job doing work that is (frankly) beneath him, and a series of hot dates with hot dads. What could go wrong?





	1. Chapter 1

“Is that the last of it?”

Edward peers into the various boxes littering the living room. All of them, save for the ones housing their clothes, are empty. “That’s it,” he says, glad to be done unpacking at long last. “Later we can take all the boxes apart and put them in the garage.”

Emma collapses onto the couch with a sigh of relief. “Thank _God_.”

He checks his watch. Four fifty-five. “So,” he announces. “Let’s talk dinner.” After a long day of driving and unpacking box upon box of household crap, Edward doesn’t have the energy to cook anything. “We can go out,” he suggests. “Or get take-out.”

“Are those the only options?” she asks, all but melting into the sofa. She’d been a good sport for the better part of the day, but it seems like she’s pretty worn out as well. Despite her seemingly limitless reserves of energy, at the end of the day she’s just a sixteen year old girl.

“Unless _you_ feel like cooking something, then yes, those are the only options.”

She thinks for a moment. “Ummm… can we go out? I want to see what this city has to offer.”

“Sure,” Edward says. “Are you in the mood for anything in particular?”

Emma shrugs. “You can pick. As long as I can get some French fries, I don’t care where we go.”

A girl of simple pleasures. “I’ll see what I can do.”


	2. Chapter 2

Edward pulls into the restaurant parking lot, removing the key from the ignition. “This place got _great_ reviews on Yelp,” he informs Emma. “Good service, good food, and ambiance to match.”

“Seems kinda bougie,” Emma says, stepping out of the car. She looks up at the sign above the door. “‘The Iceberg Lounge’? Is this a bar?”

“It _has_ a bar,” he responds, “but for all intents and purposes it’s a restaurant. And you can get fries here.”

“Alright,” she says warily, “but they better not be steak fries.”

Edward pulls open one of the large double doors, following Emma into the lounge. They stop just in front of a sign that reads ‘Please wait to be seated’.

“Whoa,” Emma says, eyes going wide as she surveys the interior.

“Whoa indeed.”

The lounge certainly lives up to its name. The floors are composed of polished, pale blue tiles that reflect the soft lamplight. In the center of the room is a large, clear pool. In the center of the pool is, you guessed it, an iceberg. There is a bar and some more tables on the other side of the pool.

“Do you think that’s real ice?” she asks, gesturing to the iceberg.

“I’d have to get a better look,” Edward says with a shrug, “but it seems disingenuous to have an Iceberg Lounge with a fake iceberg.”

“True.”

“Good evening.” A short, portly man approaches them with a smile, his hands clasped behind his back. “Just the two of you tonight?”

“Just us,” Edward affirms. “Would you happen to know if the iceberg over there is real?”

“Oh, yes. One hundred percent real ice,” the man says proudly.

“How do you keep it from melting?” Emma asks.

“I have an acquaintance that specializes in cryogenics,” he explains, picking two menus up from the stack nearby. “He and his team figured out a way to keep ice frozen for long periods of time in moderate temperatures. I think they borrowed the idea from some Japanese scientists who wanted to keep ice cream from melting.” He turns to walk through the busy restaurant, beckoning for them to follow. “Is this your first time dining with us?”

“Yes, it is. In fact, we just moved to town today,” Edward says, following the man to a table on the other side of the iceberg. “We decided to go out to eat for once. You know, get out of the house and see a little bit more of the area.”

“Dad,” Emma groans quietly. “You don’t have to tell strangers our whole life story.”

“I’m just making conversation,” he says innocently.

The man chuckles, setting the menus down as they take their seats. “It’s no trouble. You know, I’ve resided in this city for quite some time.” He reaches into his jacket pocket, producing a business card and passing it to Edward. “If you ever need recommendations of things to do around town, don’t hesitate to contact me.” He smiles graciously, revealing a row of teeth that are slightly too sharp. “Enjoy your meal,” he says, before weaving his way back through the tables the way he came.

Edward looks down at the business card. ‘Oswald Cobblepot’ is embossed on the paper with gold lettering and, below that, ‘Iceberg Lounge’. There is also a phone number and an email address. He pockets the card, opening the menu.

“That guy was kind of weird,” Emma says, hunched over her own menu.

“Don’t slouch,” Edward reminds her. “I thought he seemed nice.”

She straightens up slightly, but her posture still needs improvement. No wonder she complains about backaches all the time. “That’s because you’re weird too,” she mutters.

“Fair enough.” He glances around the restaurant only to see the man—Oswald—talking to a kid in a nearly identical suit. Perhaps it’s… a uniform.

A waiter arrives to take their order—Emma gets a burger and fries, Edward opts for a pasta dish.

Emma is being uncharacteristically quiet. She stares blankly out the window, her head resting on her palm.

Edward taps the table to get her attention. “You alright?”

She shrugs. “Tired.”

“Is that all?”

She doesn’t say anything at first. Takes a sip of her water. “Is this job going to be the same as the last one?” she asks after a while.

Edward scoffs. “I sure hope not.” Then, more seriously, “I think I’ll like this one better. It’s got good benefits and it seems like the CEO isn’t a completely greedy, capitalist dickhead.”

She nods slowly, picking at her napkin. “Okay.”

“Is that all that was bothering you?” he asks carefully. He can tell that it’s not, but parenting is all about pretending you don’t know about things to give your child the illusion of independence.

“I guess.”

“Okay,” he murmurs. “Let me know if you want to talk about anything.”

“Yeah, okay.”


	3. Chapter 3

Edward sets a frying pan on the stove, turning the burner on low. He drops a sliver of butter into the pan. Pokes it around with a spatula until it’s melted to coat the bottom of the pan.

He hears footsteps thumping slowly down the stairs and Emma appears shortly after. Her hair is tied up in a loose ponytail and she’s still in her pajamas. “Hey,” she says groggily.

“Hey,” Edward says brightly, cracking an egg into the frying pan. “Want breakfast?”

“I can just make myself a bagel,” she mumbles, shuffling over to the fridge. “Thanks though.”

“Sure.” He watches the egg sizzle in the pan. “I’m going to run some errands later, want to come?”

“What kind of errands?” Emma takes the bag of bagels out of the fridge, going to put one in the toaster.

“I was going to go pick up some new pots for the plants,” Edward says, sprinkling salt and pepper over the egg, “and I have a prescription to pick up. Might also stop in at the grocery store, get some stuff for dinner.”

“I’ll pass,” she says. “If you go to the grocery store, though, can you pick up one of those big jugs of Arizona iced tea?”

He nods, scooping the egg out of the pan and onto a plate. “What flavor?”

“Arnold Palmer, if they have it.”

“Alright, I’ll see what they’ve got.” He shakes a few drops of hot sauce onto the egg before carrying the plate and a glass of juice into the dining room.

“Thanks.” Emma takes her bagel out of the toaster, covers it with jelly, and takes it upstairs in her hand.

He shakes his head. “Use a plate next time, please,” he calls after her.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.”


	4. Chapter 4

Edward peers curiously at the label on a potted plant sitting in the garden section of Home Depot. Fittonia Albivenis.  It’s a charming little thing, with large, oval shaped leaves and white veins. There’s another plant beside it which looks to be from the same family. Fittonia Verschaffeltii. It has smaller leaves with light pink veins.

He promised himself he wouldn’t get _more_ plants, but he just can’t resist those two.

He puts the two plants in his shopping cart before moving to a wall bearing a large assortment of terracotta pots. There’s a man standing in front of the shelves with two pots in his hands—one plastic, one clay. He appears to be struggling to choose between them.

Edward selects two medium sized pots for the plants at home, and two small ones for the plants he’s about to buy. He also snags a bag of soil from the stack nearby.

The man, still inspecting the two pots, huffs out a frustrated sigh. He seems horribly overwhelmed by the prospect of making a relatively simple decision. Maybe he’s not a plant person by nature. Edward glances at him. He has neat brown hair and a well fitted suit. As Edward’s gaze travels upwards, he notices that one side of the man’s face is warped by a pale pink scar. He looks away, busying himself with the items in his cart.

The man sets one of the pots down on the shelf, digging in his pocket for something. He produces a large coin. Flips it. He goes to catch it with a hand that bears a similar scar to the one on his face, but the coin slips through his grasp and clatters onto the floor. “Goddammit,” he mutters, looking around to see where it landed.

Edward spots the coin just beneath his shopping cart and he bends to pick it up. “Here,” he says, offering it to the man.

He accepts the coin, pocketing it with a slight air of embarrassment. “Thank you,” he says stiffly.

He flashes a quick, awkward grin in response. “Are you having trouble picking a pot?” he asks.

“Yeah.” The man clears his throat, glancing at the pot still cradled in his other hand. “My wife… usually handles this stuff.”

“Maybe I can help,” Edward suggests. “Do you know what kind of plant it’s for?”

“It’s a succulent,” he says lamely. “With little round… leaves?”

“Well, if it’s a succulent you should use the plastic one,” he says. “It’ll drain faster, which is good for that type of plant.”

“Oh. Okay.” He sets the clay pot down, retrieving the plastic one from the shelf he had deposited it on. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” Edward extends his hand to the man. “I’m Edward.”

He shakes Edward’s hand. It’s a nice, solid handshake. “Harvey,” he replies. “Dent,” he adds.

Edward’s eyes widen slightly. “You’re—like the district attorney?” He feels his face flush and he realizes he’s still shaking Harvey’s hand. “Wow, I—you’re the youngest district attorney in New York.”

Harvey seems to brighten at that, the awkward shyness slipping away bit by bit. “People don’t usually recognize me anymore,” he admits.

“Well, I wouldn’t have recognized you on face alone, but I never forget names.” He lets go of Harvey’s hand. “And I watch a lot of news.”

“Always good to stay informed.”

“Exactly!” he chirps.

Harvey smiles with a practiced ease. “Well, I should probably get going, but it was good to meet you.”

“Likewise, of course.”

“And thanks for the help,” he adds, gesturing with the pot.

“Of course,” Edward repeats. “Anytime.”


	5. Chapter 5

Edward finishes up the last of his errands—they _did_ have the big jugs of Arizona iced tea at the store, _and_ they were on sale—and decides to just… walk around a little bit before going home. He wants to familiarize himself with the city. So he can figure out where to escape to when Emma banishes him from the house to have friends over.

He finds a coffee shop, a few small clothing stores, and a couple stores selling kitchen supplies and miscellaneous tchotchkes. He also passes eight more coffee shops—three independent, four Starbucks, and one Peets. The people of Gotham must collectively be in need of a caffeine fix. He also passes a few Dunkin Donuts shops, but decides it would be disrespectful to imply that the sour brown swill they sell is anywhere close to coffee.

Edward decides to take a look inside one of the stores hawking overpriced crap—soaps, candles, that sort of thing.

The woman behind the register smiles at him as he enters the store, greeting him with an overly cheery, “Hello!”

He nods politely in response. He doesn’t really care for pep. Not like that.

He picks up a small box of Rosé flavored gummy bears, turning it over to see the price. _Twenty dollars?_ There aren’t even twenty gummy bears in the box! He puts it down, stifling a disgusted scoff.

Edward spots a man with his daughter on the other side of the display table. The girl picks up a beeswax candle shaped like a cat. “Can we get this?” she asks excitedly, box braids swinging slightly as she waves the candle at her father.

Her father looks at the price tag and makes a face. “I don’t know, kiddo,” he says, setting the candle back on the table. “Twenty five bucks is kind of steep for a candle.”

The girl pouts, crossing her arms over her chest. “Mom would get it for me,” she grumbles.

Ah, a classic move. Pitting your parents against each other to get what you want.

The man sighs. “Look, how about this? When we get home I’ll see if I can find you a cat candle online for cheaper and, if not, we’ll come back and get it. Okay?”

“Okay,” the girl says brightly, seeming satisfied.

Edward smiles slightly. He remembers when Emma was that age. Of course, there wasn’t really another parent to pit him against, but she always had a way of getting what she wanted in the end.

The man glances up at him. “Kids, am I right?” he says.

“Don’t I know it,” Edward responds with a small chuckle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey so i accidentally deleted my whole ass tumblr and have to remake it so if you were following me or would like to my username is still gayestnerdsingotham and i'm planning to reupload all my crap so. i'd appreciate a follow or a promo because it's like the only way i can really promo my writing. thanks, i'm a dumbass.


	6. Chapter 6

Edward pulls into the driveway, removing his key from the ignition. He gets out of the car, popping the trunk open to unload his shopping bags. He takes the bags inside, depositing them in the kitchen and beginning to unload the groceries.

“Hey,” Emma says, appearing in the doorway.

“Hi. Will you do me a favor?”

“What kind of favor?”

He points to one of the bags. “Can you repot the plants? The ones in the living room and the two that are in that bag.”

She shrugs. “’Kay,” she says, scooping the bag into her arms and taking it out front. She returns shortly for the houseplants in the living room, taking those outside as well.

Edward finishes loading everything into the fridge and goes to sit down on the couch. He kicks his shoes off, pulling his feet up onto the cushions. Checks his tablet. He has a Facebook email notification—weird, since he hasn’t used Facebook in about three years. He opens the email, skimming it. Apparently he’s been sent an invite from a group bearing the name of their neighborhood. He clicks the link in the email, opening up a new tab in his web browser.

He skims through the list of group members—about eight people or so. One of the profile pictures looks… familiar. He clicks on it. Huh. It’s the guy from the store. Floyd Lawton. What a coincidence. He also notices that Oswald Cobblepot is a member of the group. He  _did_ say he lived in the area, but Edward didn’t think he would live right down the street. Odd.

As he continues down the list, another name catches his eye.

No way.

Harvey Dent. AKA District Attorney Harvey Dent. AKA the guy he met at Home Depot today.

Jesus, does  _everyone_ live in this neighborhood?

Emma comes back inside, bearing two freshly repotted plants. The new ones. “Where do you want these?” she asks.

“The little ones can go on the mantle,” he says, setting the tablet down. “And the big ones go next to the bookshelf.”

“Alright.” She sets the two pots down, going back outside for the other two.

Edward accepts the group request before closing the tab. “Thanks dear.”

“No problem.” Once all four plants are placed around the room, she plops down on the sofa beside him. “Can we watch a Chopped or something?” she asks.

“Sure,” he says. “Get it all set up, I’m going to grab some water.”

“Can you pour me a glass of Arnold Palmer?” she calls as he makes his way into the kitchen.

“You got it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a reminder i had to remake my blog gayestnerdsingotham because im a huge dumbass so if you want to see regular update notifications or see more of my writing, head over there and check it out. i would really appreciate it bc i lost all of my followers and was only really able to track down about 40 people. so. tell your friends.


	7. Chapter 7

“You know it’s back to school night tonight, right?” Emma asks, snagging an apple from the kitchen counter.

“Have it in my calendar,” Edward confirms, packing his laptop and tablet into a leather messenger bag. “You want a ride to school?”

“Nah, I’m alright,” she replies. She grabs her backpack from the foot of the stairs, sticking a plastic water bottle into the mesh side pocket. “Can I order pizza for dinner, since you’re going to be at the school thing?”

“I guess, but get salad too.” He points threateningly at his daughter. “You eat too much crap.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” she says with a wave of her hand. She pulls open the front door. “I’m outta here.”

“Bye!” he calls. “Have a good day at school!”

“See ya!” And then she’s out the door and making her way down the sidewalk.

Edward finishes packing up his bag. He sighs in an attempt to relieve some of the anxious tension he’s been holding onto all morning. “Okay,” he mumbles to himself, slinging the bag over his shoulder. “It’s just a job. How bad could it be?”

____

The Wayne Enterprises office building is like what Edward imagines all those cushy, Silicon Valley office buildings look like. High ceilings, wide windows, ergonomic seating. He even sees a few standing desks scattered throughout the room. One side of the room is populated with desks, while the other has a group of sofas and cushioned chairs. The desks aren’t quite cubicles, but have adjustable dividers between them to add a bit of privacy.

All in all, it seems like a nice workspace.

Edward makes his way over to his desk, setting his bag down on the floor beneath it. He takes his computer out, setting it on the desk and opening it. While he waits for it to boot up, he scans the room. Most of the people at their desks seem busy with work, but a few clusters of people are chatting quietly with each other.

A flash of movement catches his eye and he looks up. Two men have just gotten off the elevator, both in suits. One of them points in Edward’s direction and the other turns to look.

Edward feels his face flush. Bruce Wayne is staring at him.

That’s right. Famed billionaire Bruce Wayne, as in Wayne Enterprises, is staring at him. Him, Edward Nygma.

He’s only been in the building for ten minutes and he’s already getting singled out. Wonderful.

He makes himself very busy with his computer, hurrying to open up his email and find the attachments that had been sent to him. Something about reconciling a few pages of code?

“Hi,” a man’s voice says cheerfully.

Fuck. Edward looks up from his computer, forcing himself to smile. “Hello.”

The man, Bruce Wayne, extends his hand to Edward. “Bruce Wayne,” he says, as if anyone in the _state_ wouldn’t know who he was.

He hesitantly accepts the handshake. “I noticed.” He clears his throat. “Edward Nygma,” he replies, a bit louder. “I’m new.”

“I heard.” Mr. Wayne glances at his computer screen. “And you’re already working on something.”

“It was sent to me along with some of the… orientation materials. I figured I’d just get started, see what I can get done today.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” he says, still weirdly cheerful.

Edward offers an awkward laugh, not knowing how to end this conversation without being rude to his new boss. “I didn’t expect the company CEO to mingle with his underlings.”

“Well, I like to know what’s going on in my own company,” he says, as if it’s obvious. “And I like to make sure new employees are settling in okay.”

“Settling in just fine,” he says a little too quickly. He won’t deny that he likes attention, but on his own terms. This is just… uncomfortable.

Mr. Wayne gives him a slight nod. “Well, I’ll let you get back to work. And don’t hesitate to contact me or your superiors with any questions or concerns.”

“Right, thank you.” He smiles again as Mr. Wayne turns to leave, breathing a sigh of relief once he’s made it to the other side of the room. Well. At least he seems like a nice enough guy.


	8. Chapter 8

Edward makes a quick stop at home to drop off his things and say a quick hello to Emma before heading back out for back to school night. Emma gave him a copy of her schedule so he knows what teachers to talk to. She also conveniently marked which teachers she hates the most—her U.S. History and Calculus teachers are top of the list.

He pulls into the school parking lot and gets out of the car. He follows a group of other parents filing into the building. Glances down at the slightly crumpled schedule. Room two-eighteen. He looks at the nearest classroom. Two-ten. So he’s going the right direction.

He peeks into the classroom as he passes. A tall, lanky teacher in a slightly wrinkled button up is speaking to a group of parents crammed into their children’s desks. Judging by the posters on the wall, it seems to be a Psychology classroom. He keeps walking.

After a few minutes, he comes to the first class on Emma’s schedule. Chemistry. He takes a seat toward the front of the room beside an older man with pale blond hair. He’s examining a page of the class textbook with interest. Something about states of matter.

Edward leans over, tapping him gently on the shoulder. The man looks up, pale eyes widening behind his thick glasses. “Yes?” he asks.

“Can I see that when you’re done?” Edward asks, gesturing to the book.

“Oh, of course. I’ll only be a moment.” He speaks with an accent that Edward can’t place. Something European, perhaps. He adjusts his glasses with his ring finger. After a few more moments of inspecting the book, he closes it and hands it to Edward.

“Thank you,” he says. He opens the book to the table of contents, skimming the different units. He remembers liking Chemistry. At least, as much as he liked any class. “Always interested to know what my daughter’s doing all day at school, since she’d never tell me herself,” he says, casting a sideways glance at the man beside him.

He nods knowingly. “My son is the same way. I ask him, ‘How was school, Oliver?’ and he says ‘Fine’ and then disappears off to his room and doesn’t emerge until dinner time.”

“Exactly,” Edward agrees. “I mean, how hard is it to give more than a monosyllabic answer?”

“Truly.” The man sighs softly, folding his hands atop the desk. “I also like to know what science classes he’s taking,” he adds, “since I work in the sciences myself.”

“Oh, really? What do you do, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“Cryogenics,” he answers. “I work for GothCorp.”

Great name, first of all. “Are you familiar with The Iceberg Lounge?” Edward asks.

“Oh, of course,” he says brightly. “I’m a friend of the owner, Oswald.”

 “Are you the guy who made the iceberg that never melts?”

The man’s face flushes. “Well, it will melt eventually,” he admits. “And it needs to be refrozen every so often. But it can remain solid for maybe a day or two in a warm restaurant without issue.” He shrugs. “I typically don’t lend out my services for ambiance, but who am I to deny a neighbor a small favor?”

“Neighbor?” Edward recalls seeing Oswald’s name in the neighborhood Facebook group. Does that mean this guy lives there too? “Do you happen to live in the same neighborhood as District Attorney Harvey Dent?”

He blinks, seeming taken aback. “I… yes. How did you know that?”

“I think we live in the same neighborhood.” He offers his hand to the man. “I’m Edward. I just moved here.”

“Victor Fries,” he says politely. “What a coincidence.”

“Indeed. Seems like everyone I meet lives right around the corner from me.”

Victor chuckles. “Maybe you’re the center of the universe.”

Edward smiles slightly. “Yeah, I’m just the main character of a poorly written story full of plot holes and everyone around me only exists to further my character development.”

He shrugs. “Anything’s possible.”


	9. Chapter 9

Edward sighs, slumping in his cushy swivel chair. He’s exhausted. He hasn’t been sleeping well all week and the fatigue is just piling up by the day. And now he has to go to work and be productive?

Being an adult sucks.

He sighs again, finishing up a line of code. The project he’s working on is miles behind his skill level, but he supposes he  _is_ the new guy after all. What a pain. He’ll have to work his way up in the ranks all over again.

He glances at the time displayed in the lower right hand corner of the computer screen. Five more minutes until he can take a break. He quickly finishes up the bit of code he’s working on—an update for some app or something—and then grabs his jacket and heads for the elevator.

Once he’s out of the building, he wanders down the street until he reaches a coffee shop. Perfect. A little caffeine boost should be enough to get him through the rest of the day.

Edward orders a macchiato and takes a seat at a small table in the corner to wait. He checks his phone. A few new Facebook notifications. He scrolls through a few friend requests from people at work he doesn’t care about until he comes to a post notification from the neighborhood group. Something about a block party. He’s never lived in a neighborhood that was suburban enough to have block parties. He files that away in his brain for later.

The barista calls his name and he hops up to grab his drink. As he’s approaching the counter, he bumps into a very tall man that seems to have appeared out of nowhere. The man is holding a stack of manila folders. Or, he  _was_ holding a stack of manila folders. Until he dropped them all onto the floor when Edward ran into him.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” the man mutters, stooping to pick up the papers scattered across the café floor.

“I’m so sorry,” Edward says, bending down as well and beginning to gather the papers. They look like notes. Some of them are handwritten and some are typed, but they all follow the same format. “I didn’t see you.”

“It’s fine,” he grumbles, indicating that it is, in fact, not fine.

He hands the man a pile of papers, giving him what he hopes is an apologetic look. “I really am terribly sorry.”

“I just said it was fine.” The man sighs, stuffing the papers into folders. “Thanks.”

“Sure.” He frowns, studying the man’s face. “Do I… know you from somewhere?”

“How should I know what you do or don’t know?”

God, what a smartass. He continues to look at the man, reaching deep into his memory for a retrieval cue. Then it comes to him. “Oh! I saw you a few days ago at the school. You… Are you a teacher?”

“…Yes.”

“My daughter goes to the school you work at,” he explains. “I walked by your classroom on back to school night.”

“Oh.” The man looks vaguely uncomfortable. “What grade?”

“Eleventh.”

“Oh,” he says again. “I only teach twelfth grade.”

“Well, maybe she’ll have your class next year.”

“Yeah. Maybe.” He clears his throat. “Is that your drink?” he asks, pointing to the coffee cup sitting on the counter.

“Oh yeah.” Edward takes the cup. “Well, it was nice to meet you Mr….?”

“Crane. Jonathan,” he adds, as if reluctant to tell Edward his full name.

“Nice to meet you Mr. Crane,” he says with a slight nod.

“Likewise. I guess.”


	10. Chapter 10

“Dinner!” Edward calls up the stairs, scooping pasta and chicken onto two plates. He sets them both on the dining room table as Emma comes downstairs.

Emma grabs two forks from the silverware drawer, dropping them next to their placemats. She takes her seat, dousing her food with hot sauce.

“How was school?” Edward asks, sliding into his own seat.

“Fine.”

“Did you learn anything?”

She shrugs, shoveling pasta into her mouth.

“…Any wacky teen drama I should know about?” he asks, trying to coax literally any semblance of conversation out of his daughter.

She shrugs again. “I try to stay away from drama.”

Well, he knows  _that’s_ not true.

Edward sighs, unlocking his tablet and checking his email. Why does Facebook send him so many emails? Speaking of which—“There’s a block party in a couple weeks. Any interest?”

That seems to get her attention. “What exactly does a block party entail?” Emma asks warily.

“I’m… not sure.” Poor neighborhoods don’t have block parties. “I think there’s food? And maybe some sort of… activities? For the kids?” It’s his turn to offer a halfhearted shrug. “Look, I didn’t grow up middle class. I have no idea what these people do.”

“Well… I guess it can’t hurt to check it out,” she says. “Let’s block party it up.”


	11. Chapter 11

Edward pushes the front door open, kicking his shoes off and placing them in the designated shoe area by the door. “Emma?” he calls. He notices a pair of black sneakers placed neatly with the other shoes. They’re a similar style to the ones Emma wears, but noticeably bigger. “You home?”

“Yeah!” Emma yells from her room. “Hey!”

“Hey.” He sets his bag down on the sofa, shrugging off his jacket. “Are you hiding a boy up there? Or a girl with big feet?”

She pokes her head out from behind the wall above the staircase. “I’m hanging out with a friend. From school. Is that okay?”

“That’s fine. Keep the door open.”

She responds with a wildly dramatic eye-roll—like father like daughter—and disappears back into her room.

Edward sits heavily on the couch, turning on the television. He’s worn out from work—who knew sitting at a desk and typing on a computer could be so exhausting?—and he thinks he deserves some relaxation. He turns to the Food Network, settling in for an episode of Chopped Junior.

About halfway into the entrée round, Emma and her mysterious friend appear from her room, most likely in search of snacks. Sure enough, they make a beeline to the kitchen, rummaging around in the cabinets.

“Are you going to introduce me to your little friend?” Edward asks pointedly, pausing the TV.

Emma sighs as if he had asked her to perform some great feat. “This is Oliver. He’s in my Chemistry class. He lives down the street.”

The boy, Oliver, is shockingly pale. These kids must not be getting enough sun nowadays. He has big, hazel eyes and a shock of hair so blonde it’s almost white. He gives Edward a small wave. “Pleased to meet you Mr. Nygma,” he says politely in a slightly accented voice.

Well, he’s got good manners. “Hi Oliver.” He narrows his eyes slightly, looking the boy up and down. “You wouldn’t happen to be… Victor’s kid, would you?”

“Yeah, I am.” He seems a little embarrassed at that. Though, what kid  _isn’t_ embarrassed of their parents at that age?

“We met at back to school night. You’re the spitting image of him,” Edward observes.

Emma shoves a few cans of Pringles into Oliver’s hands, grabbing two packets of peanut butter cups. “We’re going back up to my room,” she announces, pushing her friend in the direction of the stairs.

“Have fun. If you’re doing anything bad up there, I’ll know.” He’s not really suspicious of her, but he just likes to mess with her sometimes. Keep her in line.

“Yeah, yeah, I know you’ve got your Dad Senses or whatever.” This is accompanied by another one of her patented eye-rolls.

“And don’t you forget it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> edward nygma enters supreme dad mode when there are other teens in his house besides his own


	12. Chapter 12

Edward stares blankly at the wall across from his place in bed. His alarm has been beeping for five minutes. He woke up half an hour ago. He can’t bring himself to lift his arm to turn off the alarm. Or get out of bed. At this rate he’ll probably be late for work. But he just lays there. Doing nothing.

So it’s going to be one of those days.

After another half hour or so there’s a knock at the door. “Dad? You alive in there?”

Barely. “Just a second,” he calls in his cheeriest voice. Blech. He sounds like a house-husband in a nineteen-sixties sitcom. Gross.

Edward reluctantly lugs himself out of bed, going over to the door. He pulls it open, hoping he doesn’t look too… sad, or something. “What’s up, Crab Cake?” he asks brightly.

Emma makes a face. “Dad,” she groans. “I’m not nine anymore.”

“Sorry kiddo.”

She rolls her eyes. “I need to use your printer. Mine’s freaking out again.”

Damn. He keeps meaning to replace that stupid thing. Or fix it, at least. “Yeah, go ahead. I’m gonna try and take a quick shower. Yell if you need anything.”

“’Kay.”

Edward grabs a change of clothes and heads into the bathroom. He looks at the shower. Thinks of how much effort it’s going to take to actually  _take_ a shower. Turning the water on, getting it to the right temperature, getting into the shower, turning the water  _off_ , getting  _out_ of the shower—that part is the hardest—and getting  _dry?_  He’s going to use up all his energy for the day just completing one task! It’s hardly worth the effort.

On the other hand, he  _can’t_ do anything else until he’s taken a shower. Because that would be breaking the rules. But if he takes the shower he won’t be able to do anything else anyway. So what’s the point?

He looks at his watch. Well, he just wasted about twenty minutes on that train of thought.

He decides to just take the fucking shower. If he’s going to be late, he might as well be clean.

“I’m heading out,” Emma shouts from the hall outside the bathroom.

“Bye! Have a good day at school!”

He hears her footsteps receding as she heads off to school and he sighs, slumping against the shower wall. Fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the token depression chapter


	13. Chapter 13

Edward is eternally grateful that there is a coffee shop so close to the Wayne Enterprises building. The coffee machine  _in_ the building is weird and leaves a funny taste in his mouth, and he’d actually die if he couldn’t get at least one cup of coffee during the workday.

This, however, is a five-cups-of-coffee kind of day.

Halfway through his third mocha, Edward hears one of the baristas call, “Americano for Bruce?”

Edward takes another sip of his drink, slouching in his seat. He’s still tired. Caffeine doesn’t seem to be doing it. What a pain.

“Hey. Edward, isn’t it?”

He looks up. “Oh,” he says, putting on his best ‘I’m a functional adult person’ face. “Hi Mr. Wayne.”

“Please, call me Bruce,” Mr. Wayne says pleasantly.

Edward has literally no intention of doing that. “You don’t seem like the type to get your coffee among the common folk,” he says, realizing too late that it sounds kind of… negative.

Mr. Wayne just laughs it off with a slight shrug. “This place has really good Americanos,” he says simply.

“Right.”

“I heard you did some good work on that update.” Mr. Wayne offers Edward a slight smile. “Your department heads seem pretty impressed.”

“Oh,” Edward says. People aren’t usually impressed by him. They should be, but they aren’t. “Thank you.”

“Just relaying the compliment.” He gestures to Edward with his cup. “Well, duty calls.”

“Of course. Bye, Mr….” He sighs. “Bruce,” he says reluctantly.

Mr. Wayne just waves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is shorter than i thought it was


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Block party pt. 1

As soon as Edward walks out the front door, he’s met with the almost overpowering smell of grilled meat. So it looks like he’s in the right place.

The street has been closed off for the block party, and folding tables and chairs have been set up in the middle of the street. Some of the younger neighborhood kids are running around or playing with toys. A couple of them seem to have started a silly string war. Most of the teenagers have clustered around one table, though only a few are actually talking to each other.

Emma makes a beeline for the teen table, grabbing a cup of lemonade on the way. Edward sighs. They’ve only been there for thirty seconds and she has already abandoned him. What good are kids anyway?

Edward scans the street, looking for… something. Something to do, something to eat. Someone to talk to.

And then he spots Victor.

Relieved, he goes over to where Victor is talking to Oswald. They’re both holding plates of food, though both of their choices are… questionable. Oswald has a hamburger which, at first, seems normal enough. But upon closer inspection, Edward notices that the only thing on it is sauerkraut and onions. So that’s weird. Victor just has a loose hot-dog on a plate next to a puddle of mustard.

Edward clears his throat to get their attention. “Hello.”

Victor turns slightly. He smiles. “Oh. Hello.”

Oswald offers something resembling a wave. “Good afternoon.”

“Good to see you both again,” Edward says, wishing he had thought to get a beverage or some food before entering this conversation. He needs a… prop of some sort.

Oswald seems a bit surprised. “You’ve met?” he asks Victor.

He shrugs. “Our children go to school together.”

“Apparently they’re friends too,” Edward remarks. “Oliver was over at the house the other day.”

“Oh, Emma is  _your_ daughter,” he says, as if he should’ve pieced it together sooner. “I wish Oliver had told me.”

Oswald leans over to Victor, whispering, “Which one is Emma?”

He scans the teen table. “She’s… that one,” he announces, pointing out Emma. “With the hair like Edward’s.”

“Oh,” Oswald says. “I suppose that should’ve been obvious.”

Edward lets out a short, vaguely uncomfortable laugh. “To be honest, I’m kind of glad she came out with red hair,” he admits. “Makes her easier to spot in a crowd.”

Edward eventually decides he should at least pretend to eat something. Just so he has something to do with his hands.

He snags a paper plate off the table bearing most of the food and scans the available options. There are a few vegetable plates, a fruit salad, some chips, and assorted baked goods. Nothing very substantial, though. He grabs a cupcake, debating whether or not he should have some real food. He’s not a fan of hot dogs—too messy—but a hamburger might be too filling. He sighs. Eating is such a scam.

He convinces himself to just be an adult and get a burger, and approaches the grill. An older, white haired man is focusing intently on flipping a few patties while a seemingly bored Harvey watches. Upon noticing Edward, he raises a half empty beer bottle in an unspoken greeting.

Edward gives a small wave, his nose wrinkling involuntarily. He hates day drinking.

“Jim,” Harvey mutters, leaning against the edge of a nearby table. “This isn’t MasterChef. I just want to get a burger.”

“Well, do you want it to be good or not?” the man at the grill, apparently named Jim, replies gruffly.

“I didn’t come to this block party for a five star meal, I just want a goddamn burger that is  _at least_ edible.” He takes a sip of his beer. “My standards for this situation are pretty low.”

Jim turns to Edward. “What about you?” he asks, pointing a spatula at him. “What do you want?”

Edward is surprised Jim even noticed him. He seemed pretty deep in the zone. “Also a burger. My standards are only moderately higher than his.”

He rolls his eyes, returning his attention to the grill. “None of you have any appreciation for the art of grilling.”

“Unless you’re putting that hamburger in the MOMA, it’s not art,” Harvey says.

Jim mutters something unintelligible, begrudgingly depositing burger patties on each of their plates. “Don’t you have to go shill for votes or something?” he grumbles.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Block party pt. 2

Edward takes a seat at one of the tables, taking a few small bites of his hamburger. It’s not bad, but not really his thing. The pickles are pretty phenomenal, though. He loves a good Kosher dill pickle.

At the table beside him, two men are talking to each other. It seems like all the guys at this thing clustered off into pairs. Weird. Less intimidating than big groups, though. One of them is that teacher he bumped into at the coffee shop. Jonathan. Edward frowns slightly. He doesn’t remember seeing him in the Facebook group. Jonathan is in the middle of a conversation with Floyd, the dad he saw at that weird, overpriced store. Small world.  

“You see the new Steven Universe episode?” Floyd asks gravely, pushing around some coleslaw on his plate.

Jonathan nods. “It’s the only thing my sister wants to watch these days,” he says flatly. “Or talk about.”

“Same with Zoe. I mean, every day it’s ‘Garnet’ this and ‘Pink Diamond’ that.” He shakes his head. “I don’t really get it, but she’s into it so I watch the episodes with her so she has someone to talk to when something crazy happens.”

“I just watch it with Mary to make sure it doesn’t fucking traumatize her.” Jonathan snaps a potato chip in half. “That show is really dark for a kid’s cartoon.”

“Tell me about it. I mean, isn’t the guy’s mom a war criminal?”

“Something like that.”

“My daughter watches Steven Universe too,” Edward chimes in, hoping they won’t care too much that he’s been eavesdropping. “She’s sixteen. I thought it was weird at first, because it’s… well, like you said, it’s a kid’s cartoon. But I watched one episode and it was all about, like, repressed trauma?”

Jonathan looks vaguely uncomfortable, but Floyd replies, “I know, right? Do ten year olds even get that stuff?”

“Well, they probably don’t get that it’s trauma, but they probably understand what it feels like to be sad and not know how to fix it,” Jonathan muses, continuing to break his chips in half. “And some ten year olds have trauma.”

“I don’t think the point is to understand trauma already,” Edward points out. “I mean, it’s teaching them about it and showing them what it looks like. So they don’t really need to go into the show already understanding the subject matter, the show is supposed to be a resource in and of itself.”

Floyd glances back and forth between Edward and Jonathan. “Are you two seriously doing an analysis of a cartoon for children?”

“…Yes?” Edward says hesitantly.

He sighs heavily, resting his chin in his hand. “Great,” he mutters, giving Jonathan a look. “Now there’s  _two_ of you.”

___

“How’re you holding up?” Edward asks, approaching Emma at the food table.

Emma, in the process of piling her plate with chips and store-bought cookies, shrugs. “Fine.”

“Meet any interesting neighborhood youths?”

She raises an eyebrow at him. “Why are you talking like an eighty year old?” she asks dryly, carefully placing a brownie on top of her cookie mountain. “I think you’ve been spending too much time with the other dads.”

“Well, it’s not like there’s anyone else here for me to talk to,” he mutters. “It looks like this whole neighborhood is full of… single dads. I mean, I haven’t seen a single adult woman or heard of anyone with a spouse of any gender.”

“There’s her,” Emma says, pointing out a dark skinned woman standing towards the edge of the party. She appears to be in a quietly heated argument with Harvey, who just seems resigned to the whole thing. Edward forgot he mentioned a wife the other day. 

“Anyone else?”

“Um… Not that I can see.”

Edward looks around the area. The woman he assumes is Harvey’s wife seems to be the only spouse in the whole neighborhood. All the other adult residents seem to be fathers, with the exception of the two rich college kids living down the street from them. “Doesn’t that seem weird to you?” he asks. “All these single dads living in the same neighborhood?”

Emma just shrugs. “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wrote this during my rewatch of steven universe can u tell


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that all the dads have been introduced, we can get down to business

“Can Sarah and Nora come over tomorrow night?”

“I don’t see why not,” Edward says, flipping through the newspaper. Emma  _loves_ to tell him that it’s a waste of money to pay for the paper just so he can do the crosswords and the jumbles, but he doesn’t care. And he’s not going to let a teenager that he  _created_  shame him out of his morning hobby.

“Cool,” Emma says, pouring herself a bowl of dry cereal and heading into the living room. “Maybe you could go out and do something while they’re here,” she suggests, feigning nonchalance. “Y’know, so you don’t have to put up with all the teen girl energy all night.”

He loves when she pretends to be doing something  _for him_  so she can get what she wants. He taught her well. “You can just say you don’t want me around because all your friends will think I’m so much cooler than you and they’ll ditch you for me,” he says casually. “I won’t let it go to my head.”

“Sure you won’t,” she says sarcastically, flopping down on the couch. “Why don’t you try to make friends with some of the other neighborhood dads? Lord knows you need to do some socializing.”

Edward hates to admit that she’s right. “I don’t know,” he says. “It seems like all the dads have their pre-established cliques that I’m not part of. I’m not trying to ruin any friend groups.” Hm. He hasn’t ruined a friend group since he was in his twenties. Good times.

“Come on, what’s the worst that could happen?”

All the dads could discover that he isn’t cool or interesting and ostracize him. They could pretend to be his friend just so they can trick him into participating in community activities. They could try to set him up on a date with a woman. “I guess you’re right,” he says, forcing an optimistic tone. “Maybe I’ll just… send some Facebook messages. See who’s free tomorrow night.”

“See? You’re one step closer to being a functioning member of society,” Emma encourages, her eyes fixed on the television as she shovels cereal into her mouth.

“Yeah… great.”


	17. Chapter 17

_Okay_ , Edward thinks to himself as he settles into his soft desk chair,  _how hard can it be to just… make a friend?_

He scrolls through the neighborhood Facebook group, looking for his first eligible friend candidate. Dick and Jason are out, since they’re glorified children. So that leaves… five dads and one mom.

That doesn’t… seem right.

He runs through all the people he met at the block party. There should be six dads, one mom. So who’s missing?

He inspects the group members again. Everyone is accounted for, except… Ah. The teacher. Edward supposes that makes sense. He didn’t really seem like the Facebook type.

After a long period of careful consideration and debate, Edward finally decides to just message Oswald. He seemed like a bit of a character when they met at The Iceberg Lounge, and he’s interested to see what he’s like in a one on one setting.

He carefully drafts a message that is both friendly and straightforward, and sends it. Now all that’s left to do is wait.

About half an hour later, his computer pings, indicating a new message. Edward clicks on the Facebook tab, carefully reading Oswald’s message. To his relief, Oswald agreed to meet him tomorrow night after work. He offered to show Edward around the city, introduce him to some of his local haunts—yes, he actually said ‘haunts’.

Edward breathes a sigh of relief once they’ve made all the necessary arrangements. Making plans with other people always makes him terribly anxious. Hopefully this whole ‘socializing’ thing is worth it.


	18. Chapter 18

Edward arrives at The Iceberg Lounge at seven thirty on the dot, right when Oswald is scheduled to get off work for the night. He pulls into the parking lot and gets out of the car to wait.

Around seven thirty-nine, Oswald appears from the side door. He’s carrying a small paper bag and a long, fur lined coat in his arms. He approaches Edward’s car with a toothy grin. “Good to see you again,” he says with a practiced smoothness. “I’d shake your hand but, as you can see, my hands are a bit full at the moment.” He gestures with the coat and the bag as he says this.

“I’ll try not to take it personally,” Edward says lightly. “Can I take anything off your hands?” he offers.

“Actually, this is for you.” He passes the bag to Edward. “I wasn’t sure if you’d eaten yet, so I just… grabbed a little something from the kitchen.”

Edward beams, accepting the bag and peeking inside. There are two small take-out containers inside. They smell delicious. Edward had thought to have a quick bite before leaving the house, but the more substantial offering is much appreciated. “Thank you, Oswald,” he says sweetly. “How thoughtful of you.”

Oswald offers a modest shrug. “My mother raised me to always show up with food in hand. I wouldn’t want to disappoint her.”

“Words to live by,” he agrees.

He gestures toward the car with a gloved hand. “Shall we?”

Edward smiles. “We shall.”

___

Edward leans against the edge of the balcony, gazing out over the cityscape. After showing Edward a plethora of theaters, galleries, and plush lounges, Oswald led them to their final destination. It’s a cute little rooftop garden with a gorgeous view of the city. At the center of it is a small pond that houses a family of ducks.

Edward feels a tap on his shoulder and he turns to see Oswald holding a set of plastic cutlery and some napkins.

“Enjoying the view?” Oswald asks, setting the items down on a nearby table.

He nods, grinning over his shoulder at Oswald. “It’s beautiful up here.”

“I don’t usually come at night,” he admits, taking a seat at the table. “I usually stop by during the day to eat my lunch and see the birds. But nothing beats the sight of all those city lights reflected by the bay.”

“Mm,” Edward murmurs. He takes the seat opposite Oswald, unpacking the take-out boxes from the bag. “I’ve been waiting all night to eat these,” he says seriously, popping one of the containers open. It’s a pasta dish doused in a creamy, red sauce. There’s a healthy amount of garlic and chopped olives in it, which Edward is eternally appreciative of.

“I hope the food lives up to your expectations. Do you mind if I smoke?”

“Go ahead.”

Oswald produces a pack of expensive looking cigarettes from his jacket pocket. He also plucks a sleek, gold tipped cigarette holder from the same pocket. He carefully fits a thin, black cigarette into the holder. Lights it.

Edward has never seen a real person use a cigarette holder. How interesting. “That’s very Audrey Hepburn of you,” he says, with a nod to the accessory.

Oswald looks vaguely embarrassed. “I don’t want my fingers to smell like cigarette smoke all night,” he explains.

“That’s valid.” He spears a few pieces of pasta on his fork, using all his restraint to keep from shoveling the food into his face. He takes a small, delicate bite.

It’s so fucking good.

“Oswald,” he says carefully. “This is delicious.”

“Well, I should hope so. Otherwise I’d have to have a serious talk with my staff.” He seems very pleased with himself, though it doesn’t come across as smugness or bravado. Rather, it’s an almost youthful pride.

It’s kind of cute.

He clears his throat quietly, focusing intently on his food. “Do you have kids?” he asks, his voice a little too loud.

Oswald seems slightly surprised at the change of subject, but he takes it in stride. “A son,” he says. “Adopted,” he adds.

“How old?”

“Ten.” He shakes his head slightly, exhaling a mouthful of smoke. “It’s… a weird age.”

Edward nods in agreement. “I remember when my daughter, Emma, was ten.” He scoffs. “She thought she was hot shit because she was the upperclassman of elementary school. Boy, did reality hit her hard when she started middle school.”

“Martin is the same way. He always wants me to treat him like an ‘adult’.” He makes air quotes around the word ‘adult’. “Meanwhile, he doesn’t even know how to work the TV remote so every time he wants to skip over a scary part in a movie, Ihave to come fast-forward for him.”

Edward lets out a short laugh, scooping more pasta onto his fork. “Kids are so wild.”

“Really.” Oswald taps a bit of ash off the end of his cigarette. “How old is your daughter?”

“Sixteen. Another weird age.” He sighs softly. “It’s like… she’s too old to feel like a kid but too young to feel like a real adult. So she’s very… resistant to the idea of impending college applications next fall.”

“That must be tough. For both of you.”

“It’s… not the easiest,” he says softly. “And she’s my first and only kid, so I’m still dealing with some trial and error, you know?”

“Oh, believe me, I know,” Oswald says with a slight roll of his eyes. “I hadn’t even  _considered_  kids until Martin came along.”

“What made you want to adopt?”

Oswald is quiet for a moment, staring pensively out over the balcony. “I found him scavenging for food in the dumpster behind the lounge,” he says finally, taking a long drag on his cigarette. “So I… just gave him a box with some leftovers. Food people had sent back or barely finished, that sort of thing.” He shrugs. “He just sort of kept coming back after that.”

“Wow,” Edward says softly. “Was he… living on the streets?”

Oswald nods. “His parents had died or been killed or something. He’d been on his own for a year or two.” He blows smoke from his nostrils, chewing on the edge of his lip. “It didn’t feel right to leave him like that. So I… took him in. And I’ve had him for three years.”

Edward wasn’t expecting such a… tragic backstory. “I don’t know what to say,” he admits quietly. “That’s… insane.”

“Yes. It is.” Oswald sighs heavily. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles. “I didn’t mean to spoil the evening with my little sob story.”

“You didn’t spoil anything,” Edward reassures him. “I’m glad you told me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hhhhhhhhh what do ppl do on dates lmao


	19. Chapter 19

“How was your little outing last night?” Emma asks, pouring herself a cup of coffee.

“It was fun,” Edward replies, searching the fridge for something resembling breakfast. “He showed me around the city, _and_ brought me free food from the lounge.”

“Lucky,” she says enviously.

“I know.” He takes the bag of bagels and a jar of jelly out of the fridge, nudging it shut with his elbow. “He’s a really interesting guy. I think you’d like him.” He pops a bagel into the toaster. “He uses a cigarette extender.”

“Classy. Is it one of the really long ones or the boring short ones?”

“It’s a long one,” he says. “It’s fancy, too.”

“So he can get lung cancer in style,” she says with a grin.

“Exactly.”

“Do you think you’re going to hang out again?”

Edward shrugs, turning the toaster off and removing his bagel. “Maybe. I like to think I made a good enough impression to warrant a second outing.”

“Let’s hope so,” she says around a mouthful of cereal. “I’m _not_ gonna put up with you being some kind of social recluse or something. You have to have friends. Plural, ideally.”

“I appreciate your concern,” he says sarcastically, “but I assure you, I have years more experience with making friends than you do.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Emma retorts.

Touché.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am v behind on writing chapters and also v behind on everything else in my life ahhhhh


	20. Chapter 20

Edward’s computer dings, pulling his attention away from the latest episode of Adam Ruins Everything. He tears his eyes from the television to investigate the cause of the noise. It’s a notification from Facebook messenger. Perhaps it’s a follow up from Oswald about their little jaunt around town.

He clicks on the notification, opening a small chat window in the corner of the computer screen. It isn’t from Oswald. It’s from Harvey.

‘Feel like doing something tonight?’

Edward feels a faint pang of anxiety in his chest. Same-day plans always make him nervous, even though he’s well into adulthood and is—for the most part—in charge of his own schedule. Nevertheless, he feels strangely compelled to seem cool and spontaneous. So he replies, ‘Sure! What’d you have in mind?’

An animated ellipsis appears in the bottom of the chat, indicating that Harvey is typing. It disappears and reappears a few times, which makes Edward wonder exactly _what_ he’s going to say that takes so much thought and revision.

After about two minutes, an actual message finally appears.

‘Drinks?’

Seriously? He waited two minutes for a one word text?

Drinking is another thing that never fails to make Edward nervous. Needless to say, he’s had a bad history with alcohol and prefers to keep it out of his day to day existence. At least, that’s the case when he’s being a logical person. Unfortunately, right now he is overwhelmed with a need to impress Harvey, so all rational thought has simply vanished from his brain.

‘Sounds good,’ he types. ‘Where/what time?’

Harvey manages to respond a bit faster this time, sending Edward an address and a suggestion that they meet at his house and leave together around eight. Edward agrees.

‘Great,’ Harvey sends. Then, in a separate text bubble, ‘It’s a date.’

Hm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just realized this fic is probably gonna be.................. real long........................... sorry folks


	21. Chapter 21

Edward says a quick goodbye to Emma and makes her promise not to eat junk all night, before heading down the street to Harvey’s house. It’s much bigger than their house, which is to be expected, with a garden in the front yard. It looks like something out of a Home Depot catalog.

He steps up to the front door. Rings the doorbell. He can hear footsteps approaching from within the house and, moments later, the door swings open to reveal what seems to be the only adult woman in the neighborhood.

She’s taller than average with smooth brown skin and wavy red hair, and she looks _thoroughly_ displeased to see him. “Can I help you?” she asks dryly.

“I’m here to see Harvey,” Edward says politely. “He should be expecting me.”

She heaves a sigh, backing out of the doorway to let him into the house. “He’s still in the shower. Lord knows that man couldn’t be on time for anything for the life of him,” she grumbles.

Reluctantly, he steps inside, standing awkwardly beside the door. Two teenagers are sprawled out on the couch playing a video game. The woman heads over to the stairs, leaning against the banister to shout, “ _Harvey!_ Your little friend is here!”

Edward can hear a string of muffled curses from upstairs, followed by a strained, “Be there in a minute!”

After about ten minutes of waiting in uncomfortable silence with the faint sound of animated laser guns in the background, Harvey appears at the top of the stairs. He’s wearing a tacky orange striped sweater with a pair of black pinstriped pants. So, a lot of stripes. “Hey,” he says, descending the stairs.

“Hi,” Edward replies, eager to get out of this weird, tense house. “Ready to go?”

“Yeah, give me a second.” He grabs his keys and wallet from a little dish in the dining room, stuffing them into his pockets. “I’m heading out,” he calls to no one in particular.

The kids mumble their halfhearted goodbyes, eyes still glued to the TV screen. The woman gives him a stiff wave. “Have fun. Be responsible.”

“I always am,” Harvey says sweetly, quickly ushering Edward out the door.

____

“Your family seems nice,” Edward says, holding a margarita glass gingerly. They found a nice, quiet spot in the corner of the bar with dim lighting and comfortable seating. They ordered their drinks—Harvey has a tab—and a couple baskets of fries. And it’s been good. So far.

Harvey nods. Takes a slow drink of his whiskey. “The kids are great,” he says after a few moments. “Dahlia’s captain of the basketball team, and Sage is getting strangers online to send him money in exchange for drawings.” He shrugs slightly, snagging a couple of fries from the center of the table. “I don’t understand it, but I support him.”

“I’m impressed. I can barely get my kid to leave the house, let alone do a sport or make some money.” He takes a small sip of his drink. It’s not bad. He still doesn’t like alcohol, but he’s not too proud to admit when something tastes good. “And your wife seems interesting,” he says carefully.

“Pamela sure is… something.” Harvey clicks his tongue quietly, swirling the brown liquid around in his glass. “I guess I can’t complain, y’know, she’s smart. Good with the kids, good around the house, makes good money. It’s just not…” He clears his throat, adjusting the collar of his sweater. “But what about you?” he says, raising his voice somewhat. “You married? Or whatever it is people do these days?”

“No,” Edward says a little too quickly. “I’m doing the whole single parent thing right now.” He says ‘right now’ as if that isn’t what he’s always done and probably what he always _will_ do.

He scoffs quietly, shaking his head. “I can’t even imagine having to deal with the twins on my own.”

“Well, I’m sure it’d be harder for you,” Edward says. “After all, you’ve got two kids and I just have the one. And you’ve got such a demanding job and upcoming campaigns to boot.”

“Yeah, right,” Harvey says with a slight chuckle. “Not for long, I’m afraid.” He finishes off his drink. Motions for a waitress to bring him another.

“What do you mean?”

“Ah, y’know.” He gestures vaguely toward the scarring on his face. “After the accident, it was… _recommended_ that I resign. I stuck it out for another term anyway, but people aren’t exactly… responding well to that decision.” He sighs softly, rubbing the bridge of his nose with a knuckle. Downs his second drink. “I think this is it for me.”

“Shit,” Edward murmurs. “What are you going to do now?”

“No idea.” He raises his head slightly, allowing Edward to see his face fully for the first time that night. He grins. “Maybe I can teach mock trial at a high school,” he suggests in an unexpectedly light tone.

“Oh, I’m sure you could do better than that,” he replies, unconsciously leaning forward a bit. “You could _at_ _least_ teach mock trial at a college.”

Harvey laughs. Edward doesn’t think he’s ever heard him actually laugh before. It’s a bit gravelly to be sure, but it’s a solid, good natured laugh. A dad laugh.

Well, what Edward _imagines_ a dad laugh should be.


	22. Chapter 22

Edward scrubs at a particularly nasty grease stain on his favorite pan, brush clenched tightly in his hand. He doesn’t know why the spot is bothering him so much, but he can’t seem to stop scrubbing it. He has a pile of other dishes to do but he can’t even _think_ of starting them until he’s finished with this one.

The doorbell rings.

He pauses, warm, soapy water sliding down his hands. Someone’s going to have to answer the door.

He waits. Doesn’t hear anything from Emma’s room.

He should probably get it. He’s the closest, after all. But he _really_ wants to finish with this pan. The doorbell rings again. His palms begin to itch.

“Dad!” Emma shouts, still cooped up in her room. “Are you gonna get that?”

Edward forces out a strained, “Coming!” He reluctantly sets the pan down in the sink, drying his hands on a towel as he makes his way to the door. He opens it to see Victor standing outside.

“Hello Edward,” Victor says brightly. “I’m just here to pick up Oliver.”

“Oh, of course,” Edward replies, ignoring his growing discomfort. “Hold on, I’ll bring him down.” He goes over to the bottom of the stairs, calling, “Oliver! Your dad’s here!”

“Be right down,” comes Oliver’s faint reply. He sure is a quiet kid. Not that Edward doesn’t appreciate that, it’s just a noticeable change from the rest of Emma’s friends.

“You know,” Victor begins, stepping over the threshold and into the house, “I was thinking that we should get together sometime.”

“Really?” Edward inches his way into the kitchen. Maybe if he goes slow enough Victor won’t even notice that he’s doing dishes.

“I think it’d be nice to get to know each other a bit better, don’t you? Especially since our children are such good friends.”

“That sounds great,” he says, reaching into the sink as Oliver comes down the stairs. “Why don’t I give you my number and we can figure out a plan?”

“Wonderful,” Victor says. He turns to his son. “Did you say goodbye to your friend?”

“Yes, Dad,” Oliver replies, sounding horribly embarrassed.

“Good. Now say thank you to Edward.”

“Thanks Mr. Nygma,” he says. Then, to his father, “I’ll meet you in the car.” He slips out the front door without another word.

“I apologize for him,” Victor says. “He’s been moody all week.”

“Trust me, I’ve seen _way_ worse.”


	23. Chapter 23

“What’s for dinner?” Emma asks, trudging sluggishly into the kitchen.

Edward shrugs. He unloads a handful of utensils from the dishwasher, sorting them neatly into their respective spaces in the designated cutlery drawer. “Sandwiches?” he suggests.

She groans, slumping against the wall. “Don’t we have any real food in this house?” she whines.

He gives her an apologetic look, shaking his head. “I’ll go to Costco tomorrow, alright? But we’re going to have to make do for tonight.”

“Can’t we just order something?”

“We spend too much money on takeout as it is.” He stacks the freshly cleaned plates in the cabinet. “You won’t die if you eat a sandwich for dinner this one time. Be thankful you have food at all.”

Emma heaves a dramatic sigh. She snatches a box of graham crackers off the counter, muttering, “Just because you used to be poor doesn’t mean we have to live like poor people _now_.”

Edward feels his grip tighten on the plate in his hands. “Don’t take that tone with me,” he warns, shelving it along with the others. “When you start bringing home a paycheck, then you can decide whether or not we get takeout for dinner.”

“Whatever,” she grumbles. “I’m sick of this fucking house.”

“ _Hey_ ,” Edward snaps, whirling around to face her. “That’s enough. You don’t get to have an attitude with me over this, and you _certainly_ do not get to swear at me. I don’t know what universe you’re living in, but that shit doesn’t fly around here.”

Emma mutters something under her breath as she turns to go back to her room.

“You better thank God I couldn’t hear that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> teens will be teens


	24. Chapter 24

Edward pushes his cart down aisle after aisle, inspecting various reasonably priced bulk items. He loves Costco. Loves the spacious warehouse interior, loves the chilly produce area, loves the fact that he can get two enormous bags of wafer cookies for four dollars.

He adds a variety pack of small chip bags to the cart—Emma requested snacks and, even though she’s been a complete and utter brat the past few days, he isn’t one to deny her the pleasure of hot Cheetos with lime. Because he’s a _good_ father.

“Put it back.”

Edward glances up to see none other than Jonathan the teacher staring sternly at a young girl clutching a box of ice cream bars.

“But _Joooooooon_ ,” she whines, holding the box tightly against her chest. “These are the good ones with caramel and _two_ layers of chocolate!”

“We already have ice cream at home. Put them back.” Jonathan drops a couple boxes of cereal into his cart, turning away from the girl to indicate that the discussion is over. He catches Edward’s eye as he turns. He makes a face. “Don’t I know you?” he asks.

“Oh, um, we live in the same neighborhood. My daughter goes to the school you work at?”

“Oh. Right. Ed something.”

“Edward,” he confirms. “Is she yours?” he asks with a gesture towards the girl.

“My sister. Mary.”

Mary looks up upon hearing her name, giving Edward a shy smile. She doesn’t really… look like her brother. She’s white, for one thing. And her round eyes are hazel in comparison to his blue ones. She’s also significantly younger than him. But Edward doesn’t mention any of that because he has manners. Like a normal person.

She tugs on Jonathan’s sleeve. “If I put the ice cream back, can we get cookies?” she asks brightly.

He sighs. “Fine. _One_ box.”

“What if it’s a two pack?”

“Pick one that isn’t.”

She pouts for a moment but, when met with a noticeable lack of sympathy, she disappears to another aisle without complaint.

“She seems like a good kid,” Edward says, inadvertently scanning the items in Jonathan’s cart. Two boxes of cereal, two jars of jalapenos, a huge bottle of lemonade, an equally huge bottle of Arizona sweet iced tea, and a box of frozen mini-pizzas.

“She has her moments.”

“Enjoy it while it lasts. Eventually they get to an age where you can’t tell them what to do so easily.” He remembers a wonderful time when Emma actually respected his authority as a parent. Ah, memories.

“With any luck, I won’t be in charge of her by the time that happens,” Jonathan mutters.

That’s the kind of cryptic bullshit that never fails to pique Edward’s interest, but he keeps his mouth shut. He doubts he’d actually get a straight answer if he asked Jonathan what that meant. Instead, he blurts out, “Do you want to do something sometime?”

Jonathan raises an eyebrow. “What?”

“I just—I’m trying to get to know people around the neighborhood. And you seem… interesting.” He cringes at himself. He’s never been good at _this_ part of socializing. “So we should do something sometime,” he finishes lamely.

“…Okay.”

“Really?” Edward had expected some sort of half-assed excuse or veiled rejection.

He shrugs. “It’s not like I’ve got anything else going on.”


	25. Chapter 25

Despite Edward’s efforts to be a good, caring father, Emma still insists on being snippy and pissy all damn day for absolutely no reason. Edward would love to get to the bottom of this once and for all, but she is making it impossible for him to even hold a conversation with her.

So he does something petty.

Now, he realizes that he’s an adult and adults shouldn’t be petty towards children, but she really has left him no other choice. On the night of his scheduled outing with Victor, he decides to hire a babysitter. 

“Dad, I’m sixteen, I don’t need a babysitter!” she exclaims for the tenth time, following Edward around the house as he gets ready to leave.

“Really?” he says lightly, rummaging around in his closet for a jacket that compliments the rest of his outfit. “That’s interesting, because I _distinctly_ recall someone in the household acting like a petulant, whiny baby for the past few weeks and I’m quite sure it wasn’t me.”

“But Dad,” Emma presses, “the sitter is only, like, a year older than me!”

“And yet she is light-years ahead of you when it comes to manners and maturity. Funny how that works out.” He selects a dark green blazer, folding it over his forearm.

“But _Dad_ —”

“Look,” he says sternly, growing tired of all this pestering. “I am sick and tired of the way you’ve been acting lately. Be glad that _this_ is the consequence you have to deal with.” He grabs his wallet from the bedside table, tucking it into the jacket pocket. “If I were a different man, things could’ve been way worse for you. But they’re not and you have no logical reason to be so pissed off all the time.” The doorbell rings. “That’s probably the sitter.”

“Great,” Emma grumbles, “now my night is officially ruined.”

“I don’t want to hear it. You’re going to be nice to this girl, you’re going to listen to her, and you’re going to be in bed by ten thirty. This is not an episode of Malcolm in the Middle—you will not traumatize her, you will not manipulate her, and you will not sneak anyone in or out of this house. Got it?”

“Fine,” she mutters. “But I just want you to know that you’re ruining my childhood.”

Edward scoffs. “You’re a middle class kid with friends, a loving father, and a nice house. You’re in no place to talk about ruined childhoods.”


	26. Chapter 26

“And you _actually_ got her a babysitter?”

Edward nods, looking out the passenger side window in Victor’s car. “I had to do _something_ , she was being insufferable! It’s hard enough dealing with her teen angst when she’s being nice to me.”

“Perhaps she and Oliver are conspiring against us,” Victor suggests, slowing to a stop at a red light. “He’s been moody and rude for the past two weeks.”

“That’s odd. He usually seems so polite.” He continues to peer out the window, searching for any clue as to their destination. Victor wanted to keep this evening’s activity a secret for whatever reason, and the curiosity is eating away at Edward.

“To be honest, I sort of expected it,” he murmurs, turning the corner once the light turns green. “My wife passed recently, so I was sort of predicting a certain amount of acting out sooner or later.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that,” Edward says softly. “Was it sudden?”

“She’d been sick for a while.” He glances at Edward from the corner of his eye. “Doesn’t make it hurt any less, though.”

“I didn’t mean to imply—”

“No implication was made,” Victor assures him. “I was simply… clarifying.”

“If you ever need to… talk about things,” he says carefully, “I’d be happy to listen.”

“Thank you. I appreciate your kindness.” He straightens up in his seat, pulling into a parking lot. “But enough about that for now. We’re here.”

___

Their destination is, apparently, an ice rink. It’s a cute little place with lots of wholesome families and couples all over the place. There’s a snack bar with a variety of warm beverages for sale. All in all, it seems like a nice place for a fun get together.

That is, it _would_ be if Edward actually knew how to ice skate.

He considers telling Victor that he doesn’t know how to skate when they get out of the car and enter the rink lobby, but he decides not to say anything for fear of ruining the mood. He also decides not to say anything when they’re lacing up their skates on a bench by the lockers.  Even as they’re hobbling from the bench to the edge of the ice, he keeps his mouth shut.

Victor goes first, skating smoothly onto the ice and stopping about a yard away to wait for Edward.

Edward, at this point, is one wrong move away from having an actual breakdown. He takes a deep breath. How hard could it be? He knows how to roller-skate, and it’s basically the same principle. He’ll probably be fine.

“Coming?” Victor asks lightly.

Edward nods vigorously, trying to keep from hyperventilating. “Yeah, I was just—Just thinking about how much I love ice skating!” Why did he say that? What terrible little goblin in his brain made him say those words?

He places one skate hesitantly on the ice, breathing a small sigh of relief when he doesn’t immediately fall flat on his face. He puts his other skate down and carefully lets go of the railing.

All the relief he felt a moment ago leaves his body, along with all his self confidence and probably a good portion of his emotional stability. He wobbles, unable to balance on the two absurdly thin blades below him, and tries to take a step to steady himself. That completely backfires and he just ends up stumbling wildly toward Victor.

He slams headfirst into Victor’s chest, squeezing his eyes shut and bracing himself for their imminent collision with the ice beneath them. But they don’t fall. He cracks one eye open.

Victor is staring down at him with a vague look of concern. He seems to have… caught Edward without toppling over himself. “Are you alright?”

“…I don’t know how to skate,” Edward mumbles, his voice muffled by the soft fabric of Victor’s sweater.

“Oh dear,” he says quietly. “Why didn’t you say so?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t want to spoil your plans.” He tries to pull away a bit, but he’s still horribly off balance and he just ends up grabbing onto Victor’s shoulders for support. “I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m—I shouldn’t have assumed—I should’ve just told you what I had planned.” He glances over his shoulder at the rest of the ice rink. “I was just excited to come here with you. I haven’t been here since—” He cuts himself off, giving Edward an apologetic look. “We can go somewhere else, if you like.”

Edward bites the inside of his cheek. He feels terrible for derailing the whole evening like this. “Do you think you could teach me?”

“Teach you?”

“To skate.” He offers a nervous chuckle. “It’s about time I learned, don’t you think?”

Victor’s face brightens a bit at that. “Well, I’m no Anita Madsen, but I’m sure I could teach you enough to be able to actually move around.”

Edward doesn’t know who Anita Madsen is, but he likes the sound of being able to move. “Impart your vast ice skating knowledge on me, Mr. Fries.”

He grins, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “I’m afraid you’ll have to let go of me first.”

“On second thought, maybe I don’t need to learn how to skate.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hate ice skating lol


	27. Chapter 27

“How’d your date go?” Emma asks once the babysitter has been paid and dismissed from the house. She seems a tad glum but nowhere near as resentful as Edward had expected.

“It wasn’t a date,” Edward says, going into the kitchen to make a cup of tea. He’s still a bit cold from the ice rink. “We went ice skating.”

“I thought you didn’t know how to ice skate.”

“Well, I do now. More or less.” Victor was undoubtedly a good teacher, despite Edward’s ineptitude on the ice. He now knows how to skate back and forth in a straight line and, if he concentrates really hard, he can kind of go in a circle. “It was fun. He’s a nice guy.” He sets the kettle on the stove, turning the burner up. “How was the sitter?”

“Fine. She made chicken with rice.” Her eyes are glued to her phone. Edward wonders if she’s still mad at him. “It was good.”

“That’s good.” He drops a teabag into a mug—he opts for a cinnamon mint tea—adding a few spoonfuls of sugar on top. “Do you want tea?”

“Nah. I think I’m gonna go to bed actually.”

He knows that just means she’s going to hang out in her room on her computer with the lights off, but there’s nothing he can really do about that. “Okay. Goodnight.”

“Night,” she mumbles, getting up from the couch and heading upstairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ngl this is 100% filler just bc of pacing and also i was in too much pain to sit up and type yesterday. yeet


	28. Chapter 28

In hindsight, Edward realizes that perhaps it wasn’t the best idea to plan back-to-back social ventures. He didn’t factor in how drained he would be the day after his evening with Victor, and now he’s paying the price for his own foolishness. He’s meeting up with Jonathan in an hour or so and he’s just not… emotionally prepared to talk to another human being.

But it’s too late to back out now. So he makes a nice, _strong_ cup of coffee, and hopes for the best.

___

Edward knocks on Jonathan’s front door. They had made vague plans to get some kind of afternoon food—it’s slightly too late and informal to be lunch—and Edward is really hoping that wherever they end up is quiet and nearby.

The door swings open and Jonathan, without missing a beat, says, “Can I be honest with you?”

“Uh, sure. I guess,” Edward stammers, surprised by how… straightforward that was.

“I’m very tired,” he says simply. “I had to take a last minute trip to Vermont the other day, which I am decidedly unhappy about, and I’m exhausted. Sorry.”

Edward breathes an audible sigh of relief. “Don’t even worry about it. To be honest, I’m pretty worn out myself. We can do this another time if you—”

“Do you want to just come inside?” he suggests. “I feel weird cancelling since you’re… here. But I really don’t have the energy to go somewhere or try to do something.”

“That’s valid.” It’s sort of refreshing to meet someone so forthright. Really takes a lot of the effort out of this sort of thing.

He follows Jonathan into the house. All the lights have been turned off, but the blinds have been opened to let some natural light into the room.

“Do you want coffee or something?” Jonathan offers with a yawn, heading into the kitchen.

“I’m alright. Thanks though.”

He nods slightly, proceeding to pour himself a glass of tap water. “You can sit down if you want.”

Edward sits gingerly on the edge of the sofa, avoiding a well worn spot which he assumes is Jonathan’s seat of choice. “So, what’s in Vermont?”

“Huh?” Jonathan asks absently, returning from the kitchen to sit beside Edward.

“You said you took a trip to Vermont. So what’s in Vermont?”

“Oh. Right.” He takes a sip of his water. “I had to deal with an… issue with Mary’s mother. She lives up there.”

“Is everything alright?” he asks. He wonders what the whole situation with his sister and their parents is. And it seems… odd that he only referred to her as _Mary’s_ mother.

“Yeah, she’s fine. Just making my life extra difficult.” Jonathan kicks his long legs up to rest his feet on the coffee table. “What about you, what’s got you so tired?”

“Well, nothing as drastic as a last minute road trip,” Edward says, suddenly feeling a bit sheepish for being so worn out after a simple date. If it even _was_ a date. “I was learning how to ice skate last night.”

“Did you fall a lot?”

“Oh, absolutely.” He rolls up the leg of his pants, revealing a beige band-aid hiding a raw scrape from his evening with Victor. “I think the pain drives me,” he says, feigning seriousness.

“Wow,” Jonathan says, admiring the few red streaks visible above the edges of the bandage. “Keep it up and you can be the next Tonya Harding.”

“Not unless I find a guy to smash my competitor’s kneecaps for me.”

He leans forward as if to divulge a very important secret. “Between you and me, I think Victor would be willing to do it.”

“I’ll have to bring it up the next time I see him,” he replies with a grin. He’s actually having fun, despite the fact that they’re just sitting on the couch doing nothing. It’s sort of nice.

And now he’s about to kill the mood.

“Can I ask you something?”

Jonathan blinks, seeming vaguely surprised. “I suppose.”

“What’s the… situation with Mary?” Edward asks carefully.

He seems to deflate a little at that, and Edward worries that he’s hit a sore spot. “It’s sort of complicated.”

“If you don’t want to tell me—”

“No, it’s not that. It just actually is complicated.” Jonathan sighs, relaxing against the back of the sofa. “She’s my half sister, our mother has a drug problem, her father is out of the country for work, and I was the only available next of kin to take care of her.” He shrugs. “I guess it wasn’t _that_ complicated.”

“Jesus,” Edward murmurs. “Is your mom okay?”

“Yeah, Karen’s fine. She’s in rehab—which I pay for—and she’s… she’s fine.” He clears his throat quietly, seeming to grow insecure for the first time since Edward’s arrival. “Child Protective Services did an investigation and now Karen goes to rehab, I take care of Mary, and Mary goes to therapy once a week. So it all works out. Sort of.”

Even the mere mention of Child Protective Services gives Edward a bit of a queasy feeling. He remembers having to hide behind the sofa and pretend no one was home when CPS officials would stop by the house. That, and bill collectors. “That must have been really hard on her.”

“Well, she’s eleven, so she likes to pretend that she’s really tough and mature, but… Yeah. It’s been hard.” Jonathan gets up abruptly, going back into the kitchen to refill his glass—which Edward notices is barely half empty. “Did you say you had kids?”

“A daughter. She goes to the school that you work at.”

“Ah, right.” He returns to the living room but remains standing. “Do you have a spouse, or…?”

“Nope. Single parent, full custody.”

“Fun,” Jonathan says dryly.

“You have no idea.”


	29. Chapter 29

Edward is up for a promotion at work. And it’s about time too. With his level of skill and experience, he never should’ve been doing the menial tasks he was assigned, but he supposes everyone has to start somewhere.

He’s kept his head down for the past few weeks, doing his best to keep quiet in order to avoid ruining his chances for the promotion. He’s not going to do _anything_ to jeopardize this job.

And then he gets an invitation to a benefit gala sponsored by the company. This poses two problems.

The first problem is that attending the gala may endanger the promotion he so desperately wants. He knows that if he shows up to this event he’ll find some way to make a fool out of himself or turn everyone in his department against him. Because that’s what always happens.

The second problem is that _not_ attending the gala may also endanger the promotion. If he doesn’t show up, he seems like an antisocial, selfish asshole who hates charity and doesn’t know how to have fun. He may be four out of five of those things, but he doesn’t need his bosses to know that.

So basically he’s fucked either way.

Edward is still puzzling over what he should do as he’s waiting for the elevator to arrive at the end of the workday. He hasn’t come any closer to a decision. The elevator dings and he gets on. Unfortunately, he isn’t alone.

Bruce Wayne, famed billionaire and over-involved CEO, is standing in the elevator. “Hey, Edward,” he says brightly.

“Hi Mr. Wayne.”

“Bruce,” he corrects.

“Bruce,” Edward echoes. “Right.”

“Are you going to the gala this weekend?”

Edward refrains from screaming out of frustration. “Oh, I’m not sure if it’s… my kind of place,” he says, trying not to say anything definitive one way or another.

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll fit right in,” Bruce says, waving his hand dismissively. “You seem like a classy guy, and it’ll be nice to see a familiar face who isn’t a corporate asshole.”

This gives Edward some conflicting emotions. He doesn’t really understand what makes a literal billionaire think he’s ‘classy’, and he also isn’t sure how he feels about Bruce considering him a ‘familiar face’. But at the same time… Bruce _wants_ him to be there. And that feels really fucking good.

“Maybe I’ll swing by,” Edward says lightly, still unwilling to fully commit but knowing he’ll probably go.

“Great!” Bruce chirps. “Hope to see you there.”

“Yeah… Likewise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so the second half of this month (and probably the beginning of next) are gonna be super busy for me so if you see a delay/decline in updates that's why. i'll try to write some chapters ahead of time but no guarantees my depressed ass is actually gonna get around to it


	30. Chapter 30

“You’re going out _again?_ ” Emma says exasperatedly, following Edward into his bedroom. “This is like the fourth weekend in a row!”

 “It’s just a work thing,” Edward says calmly. He rummages through his closet in search of a suitable outfit for a gala. He’s never been to a gala before. Is it black tie? He doesn’t want to wear all black. “I’ll try and pocket some fancy hors d’oeuvres for you, okay?”

“So you get to go out and party and hang out with guys all weekend, but I have _one guy_ over and I get grounded?”

He sighs, slipping a dark green suit jacket off its hanger. “I wouldn’t call a corporate charity event ‘partying’. And that guy was eighteen and had a rat-tail. They’re not comparable situations.”

“But Dad—”

“Emma—” Edward lets out a frustrated groan, pinching the bridge of his nose. “What’s going on with you? Why are you suddenly so irritable about every little thing I do?”

“I am not,” she says defensively.

“You absolutely are! Besides, I thought _you_ were the one who wanted me to socialize in the first place.”

“I did, but—I don’t know!” Emma sighs, flopping down on his bed. “Sue me for wanting to hang out with my dad every once in a while,” she mutters.

Edward refrains from pointing out all the times she _didn’t_ want to hang out with him. He sits down beside her on the edge of the bed. “Look,” he says softly. “Why don’t we go do something tomorrow? Just the two of us.”

“If you’re trying to trick me into not being mad anymore, it’s not going to work,” she grumbles, resisting his attempts at parenting.

“I’m not trying to trick you into doing anything. If you want to hang out with me we’ll hang out.” Unless she’s just using that as an excuse to cover up what she’s really mad about. Either way, she’s _getting_ a father-daughter hang out day. “I have to finish getting ready, but we can figure out some plans when I get home, okay?”

“…Fine,” Emma says. She still doesn’t seem satisfied, but at least she doesn’t seem actively angry anymore.

“Alright. Now get out of here so I can change.”


	31. Chapter 31

Edward hates rich people and he’s not afraid to admit it. He hates them on principle, hates them in theory, and hates them in practice. And now he has to spend at least an hour in a room full of them. Wonderful.

There are some other regular employees like himself milling around, but not a lot of people from his department. He doesn’t know _anyone_ here.

Suddenly feeling very anxious, Edward makes himself busy with the small plate of food he’d managed to snag from a passing waiter. It seems to be something resembling a slider, but unnecessarily fancy and inexplicably small. He doesn’t eat it, instead choosing to rearrange the toppings a few times. Lettuce should go on the _bottom_.

After about half an hour of wandering around the perimeter of the venue and playing with his food, he feels a hand come to rest gently on his shoulder.

Edward turns to see Bruce Wayne smiling politely down at him. “Glad you could make it,” he says. He seems a tad more subdued than usual, dark circles barely visible beneath his eyes.

“I’m not planning to stay very long,” Edward replies, doing his best to sound apologetic.

“Truthfully, neither am I.” Bruce clears his throat quietly, adjusting his necktie. “I was going to get some air out on the balcony,” he says abruptly. “Care to join me?”

“Oh… sure. I guess.”

Edward follows him to a door at the back of the room, exiting onto the balcony outside. The evening air is cool against his skin and he pulls his jacket a little tighter around himself.

“Nice night,” Bruce remarks, leaning against the balcony’s edge. He doesn’t seem to be bothered by the chill.

“Yeah. Nice.”

“I hate these things, y’know?” he says, gazing absently over his shoulder at a cluster of wealthy socialites who can be seen through the building’s wide windows. “Rubbing elbows with these people all night. Just feels so… phony.”

Edward resists the urge to make a comment about Bruce being one of ‘these people’. Instead, he says, “I know what you mean. Rich people sort of have that energy. No offense,” he adds. He’s not trying to piss off the CEO while that promotion is still up for grabs.

“None taken.” He sighs softly. “God,” he mutters, rubbing his eyes, “I’m so fucking tired.”

“Late night at the… office?” Edward genuinely isn’t sure what Bryce actually… does during the workday.

“Yeah, something like that.” He straightens up. “Listen, do you want to get out of here?” he says suddenly, turning to look at Edward.

Edward, taken aback, glances around to see if maybe Bruce is talking to someone else. But they’re alone on the balcony. And Bruce is staring right at him. “And go where?” he asks hesitantly. Somewhere in the back of his mind, it occurs to him that this might become some sort of weird sex thing and he absolutely isn’t prepared for that scenario. The packer he selected for his evening out is _not_ suitable for a little surprise tryst.

Bruce shrugs. “I could eat.”

Eating isn’t very sexy, so he’s probably safe. “…Okay.”

He retrieves a cell phone from his inside jacket pocket, tapping a few buttons and holding it up to his ear. “I’ll have Alfred bring the car around.”

___

Edward would’ve expected billionaire Bruce Wayne to whisk him away to some fancy overpriced restaurant where every dish includes caviar, truffles, or gold leaf. He would’ve expected something lavish and extravagant and gentrified. He wasn’t prepared to end up at some tiny New York pizza place.

Bruce orders a medium pizza with ‘the usual’ toppings—which means he must come here enough to have a usual—and takes a seat at a table by the window. Edward follows him, sitting down across from him.

“I wouldn’t have thought this type of place would be your style,” Edward says tactfully, shrugging off his jacket. The restaurant is warm and permeated by the heavenly scent of garlic and cheese.

“Well, who _doesn’t_ enjoy a good pizza?” Bruce pulls a couple paper napkins from the metal dispenser on the table. “And I’ve been coming here since I was a kid, so… it’s got a special place in my heart.”

He supposes that’s kind of sweet. “Nostalgia is a powerful force,” he says for lack of something better to say but wanting to fill the silence nonetheless.

“Yeah. It is.”

Edward tries to think of something to say, but is saved by the arrival of their pizza. Pepperoni, sausage, and anchovies. All solid choices. He lets Bruce pick a slice first before taking his own, dousing it in parmesan cheese and chili flakes. He takes a bite.

Of course Bruce Wayne has good taste in pizza.

Bruce starts on his own piece, briefly depriving Edward of his attention. He hums his approval of the pizza, a grin spreading across his face as he finishes chewing. “Still holds up.”

Edward offers a small smile in response. He finishes his slice. Then, feeling emboldened by the casual nature of this very odd evening, asks, “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” Bruce says easily.

“…Why have you taken such an interest in me?”

He blinks, looking up from his food. “What do you mean?”

“Well, it’s just—I mean you’re my boss. You’re my _boss’s_ boss. And I’m just not sure what I did to warrant this much… attention from you.”

Bruce seems vaguely surprised by this. “Am I making you uncomfortable?” he asks.

“No, I don’t think so. I’m just confused.”

He doesn’t say anything at first. Then, after a few moments of heavy silence, he says, “You just… sort of reminded me of someone I used to know. And I thought I might like to get to know you better.”

Why do men always feel the need to be so damn cryptic? What the hell is he supposed to say to that? “Okay…” he says slowly.

And that’s the end of it. Bruce doesn’t explain further, and Edward doesn’t push the issue. He doesn’t want to hit any sore spots.

Besides, the pizza’s not going to eat itself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> u know bruce left like a $200 tip


	32. Chapter 32

Edward has a splitting headache. It happens sometimes—light sensitivity, noise sensitivity, throbbing pain, the works—and it’s a huge hassle. He wants nothing more than to crawl back into bed and turn all the lights off, but he’s a good father and he promised Emma they’d do something. So they’re going to do something.

Emma wants to see a movie. An action movie. With lots of loud noises and bright lights. She wants to spend two hours in a dark room, listening to booming explosions, flashing laser guns, and no escape. And she also wants him to pay eighteen dollars to do this.

Wonderful.

But Edward is being a good dad today. So he decides to suck it up, take four aspirin, and agree.

The movie isn’t bad. It’s not really his type of genre, but the special effects are good and the plot is bearable.

Emma seems to be enjoying it, which almost makes the whole experience worth it. No matter how bratty Emma gets, Edward lives to make her happy. It’s a shame she won’t appreciate it until she’s out of the house and has to do things for herself.

Edward is never sure if he’s doing this whole parenting thing right. He doesn’t exactly have a good model to use as reference, so he’s really just pulling this shit out of his ass. But Emma doesn’t seem too fucked up or traumatized, so he’s probably doing okay.

And Emma’s a good kid. Even when she’s mad at him, or doing something she’s not supposed to. At the end of the day, she’s a good kid. And that’s all he could really ask for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol i was in so much pain yesterday it took me like hours to write this tiny chapter im so sorry


	33. Chapter 33

Emma is over at a friend’s house, giving Edward a night to himself for once. Usually Emma likes to play hostess and banish him from the house to have her friends over, but this time their home is mercifully free of teenagers. It’s such a rare occurrence, he doesn’t even know what to do with himself.

He starts with a bath. How long has it been since he’s taken a real bath? He lights some candles, pulls out the bag of Epsom salts crammed in the cabinet under the sink, and settles in for a relaxing evening.

But about half an hour later he gets bored.

Edward dries himself off, letting the water drain out of the tub. He supposes he could invite someone over, but he’s not sure if he’s willing to sacrifice his solitude quite yet. Besides, almost all of his friends are single parents and can’t exactly drop by at a moment’s notice.

He decides to go for a walk. That’s something people do, right? So he throws on a pair of pants and a sweater that doesn’t fit him—and honestly may not even be his—and heads out for a walk around the block.

He eventually realizes that walking isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. He’s still bored, and now his feet are tired. Why did he think this would be a good idea?

Edward comes to the end of the block, preparing to double back and go home. But then he sees something. Something sitting atop the roof of the second to last house on the block. It appears to be… a person.

The person, having noticed Edward staring up at them, raises a hand in greeting. Edward waves back, squinting in an effort to figure out who the person is.

“Take a picture,” they shout down from the roof. “It’ll last longer.”

Edward recognizes the voice. “You’re… Floyd, right?”

“Depends who’s asking,” Floyd replies. “Are you going to gawk at me all night?”

“No, I just—why are you on the roof?”

Floyd takes a drink from something Edward can’t quite see. “Why aren’t _you_ on the roof?”

Edward has the sneaking suspicion that this guy is probably drunk. Either that or he’s just a jackass. “That’s very profound,” he says dryly, turning to go back to the house.

“Want to come up? There’s a ladder in back.”

Is this a dream? Did he fall asleep in the tub or something? What’s going on? “Do I—why would I want to do that?”

He shrugs. “View’s pretty nice.”

___

“Do you drink?”

“No, not anymore.” Edward genuinely has no idea why he decided to join Floyd on the roof. He didn’t put that much thought into it. He must’ve been _really_ bored.

“Shame.” Floyd takes a final swig of his drink, which Edward can now see is a beer, before dropping the bottle off the roof. It shatters in the driveway below. Edward notices a second shattered bottle beside it.

“Do you… come up here often?” he asks carefully.

He scoffs. “That’s the oldest line in the book.”

Edward feels his ears warm and he rolls his eyes. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know.” He nudges Edward in the shoulder. “Lighten up, I’m just messing with you.”

“Oh.”

“You’re Emma’s dad, right?”

“Yeah,” Edward replies, wondering how Floyd knew that.

“She babysat my daughter a couple times.” He nods thoughtfully, staring up at the night sky. “Good kid. Responsible.”

“Yeah, I like to think she is.” He pulls his knees up to his chest, following Floyd’s gaze. It’s a nice night. There’s too much light pollution to be able to see stars, but a bright crescent moon hangs in the sky above. “How old is your daughter?”

“Zoe. She’s ten.” Floyd watches a beetle crawl across the toe of his boot. “She’s at her mom’s right now.”

Better that than being alone in the house while her dad drinks on the roof. “What’s the custody arrangement like?”

“Alternating weeks.”

“At least it’s a pretty even split.”

“Yeah.” Floyd sighs softly. He puts a hand out, allowing the beetle to climb onto his finger. “My ex didn’t want to let me have the full week at first, but I fought for it. I mean, I deserve to see my kid as much as she does.”

“Why’d she want you to have less time?” Edward asks. He feels like he shouldn’t pry, but he _does_ love some good drama here and there.

“Ah, I’ve got a weird work schedule. Pretty inconsistent.” He waves his free hand dismissively. “Sometimes I don’t have to work for days, others I’m keeping crazy long hours. My ex thought it wasn’t worth me having the extra days if I was just going to have to get a sitter for Zoe.”

“Oh. What do you do for work?”

“I do contract work.”

“…What kind of contract work?” he presses.

Floyd doesn’t say anything for a few moments, suddenly very interested in the beetle making its way up his wrist. Finally, he says, “This and that.”

Edward decides to give up his line of questioning, since Floyd is clearly unwilling to divulge what his job is for some reason. “Well… it probably balances out. I mean, even if you’re working a lot some days, you have plenty of days off to spend with her.”

“That’s what I said, and the judge sided with me. So here I am.”

“Here you are,” Edward echoes. Floyd seems like a weird guy. Maybe even a bit of an asshole. But he’s not so bad. Edward gazes off into the distance, watching the flickering lights of the city around them.

Floyd was right. It is a nice view.


	34. Chapter 34

Edward got the promotion. He knew he would—he did deserve it after all, unlike _some_ people. He decides that, in celebration of the slight raise and better job title, he’s going to take Emma out to dinner.

“Can I bring my friend?” Emma asks when he poses the idea.

“Which friend?” If it’s that girl Ava, he’s saying no. Not after what she did to his shoes.

“Barbara. She lives across the street.”

“This is the first time I’m hearing about any Barbara,” he says skeptically. He’d prefer to stick to an evil he knows.

“She’s really cool,” Emma says excitedly. “She’s a senior, and she knows krav maga, and her dad’s the police commissioner—well, that’s not that cool because cops suck, so just the first two. I think you’d like her. She’s very smart and responsible and I think she’s a good influence on me.” She’s switched from gushing about her friend to using her signature mature voice in an attempt to convince him. She must really want this girl to come along.

 “Well, I want to talk to her dad first, but otherwise I’m fine with it. What’s his name?”

“Um… Mr. Gordon?” She shrugs. “I don’t actually know his first name.”

Kids never bother to learn their friends’ parents’ names anymore. It’s so sad. “Jim. He’s in the neighborhood Facebook group. I’ll shoot him a message later.” Maybe he’ll invite Jim too. It might be nice to have some adult company to compensate for all the teen energy he’ll have to deal with.

Emma beams. “Thank you! You really are a good dad after all.”

Ouch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's my birthday today. yeet.


	35. Chapter 35

Edward and Emma arrive at the restaurant before Jim and Barbara. They take a seat at a table by the window, and the waiter brings them a basket of bread to nibble on while they wait—or, in Emma’s case, to consume with the voracity of someone who had been starved for weeks. That girl loves her bread.

Jim and Barbara arrive a few minutes later. Barbara waves to Emma, while Jim opts for a curt nod instead. They slide into the open seats.

Jim shrugs his long, brown jacket off and drapes it over the back of his chair. “Sorry we’re late. Work ran later than I thought.”

“Oh, it’s no problem,” Edward says. “We’ve only been here for a couple minutes.” He glances at Emma and Barbara, who are already chatting away about some drama going on at school. He’s glad he decided to invite Jim after all. “You must work a lot of long hours, being police commissioner and all.”

He nods, taking a sip of the ice water placed in front of him. “Like you wouldn’t believe.”

Edward nods slowly, searching for something to say. He doesn’t like cops. No one in his family ever has, although for drastically differing reasons. He doesn’t want to ask about Jim’s job because, frankly, he doesn’t care. But he doesn’t really know enough about him to ask about anything else.

Luckily, Edward’s silence lasts long enough to prompt Jim to speak. “So what do you do for work?”

“I work at Wayne Enterprises. I’m a software designer.”

“Oh. Interesting.” Jim takes another sip of his water, very obviously uninterested. “I’ll never understand how a man like Bruce Wayne manages to keep a company that size afloat,” he says, muttering it more to himself than to Edward.

“What do you mean?” Edward wonders exactly what ‘a man like Bruce Wayne’ is.

“I just don’t think that the billionaire playboy lifestyle is very… compatible with being a CEO.”

That’s the fakest thing Edward has ever heard. “The billionaire playboy lifestyle was _built_ for CEOs, Jim,” he says simply. “They’re the only people who can afford it.”

“I’m just saying that I would expect someone in his position to be more responsible,” Jim says sternly. “Wouldn’t you?”

“Well, that presumes that I think Mr. Wayne is _irresponsible_ , which I’m not sure that I do.” Edward flips open his menu, scanning the entrée list. “Besides, his parents were murdered. I’m sure he’s earned the right to be a bit of a party boy.”

“He has to grow up eventually.”

“But I don’t think that wanting to party and have fun and f—hook up with models means he isn’t grown up.” He shrugs. “Sounds like a good time to me.”

Jim raises an eyebrow, picking up his own menu. “Well, it’s probably a good thing you don’t run a company then,” he says evenly.

Is he… actually having an argument with his daughter’s friend’s dad about _Bruce Wayne?_ He clears his throat softly, turning to Barbara in order to change the subject and, hopefully, cut the tension. “So, Barbara,” he says, pulling her attention away from Emma. “What are you thinking about for college?”

“Oh, well I’m still deciding, but I think I’m going to stay in New York,” Barbara says with the tone of a very polite person who is so tired of being asked about college.

“What do you want to study?” he asks.

“Criminal psychology.”

She must take after her father.

The rest of the evening goes on without much trouble. Jim continues to be vaguely gruff, and the girls continue to ignore their parents in favor of some inane gossip that Edward can’t be bothered to eavesdrop on.

All in all, Edward doesn’t find Jim terribly interesting. He seems like a nice enough guy, but he’s more of a father than an actual person. It’s as if he channels all his available personality into his paternal nature. It’s very… odd. But his daughter seems relatively normal and well adjusted, so he can’t really complain.

He just hopes the whole criminal justice thing doesn’t rub off on Emma.


	36. Chapter 36

Edward feels his phone buzzing before he hears it. The droning vibrations drill into his skull from beneath his pillow and, in the face of well deserved grogginess, he tries to figure out why he ever thought it was a good idea to put his phone under the pillow in the first place.

He stares down at the screen with bleary eyes. He doesn’t recognize the number, and there’s no contact name attached to it. Against his better judgment, he answers the call. “Hello?”

“Come over.”

Edward frowns, reaching to rub his eyes with the heel of his palm. “Harvey? It’s the middle of the night.”

“I know that.”

Is this… a booty call? Do people even call it that anymore? “Well, I can’t just—I mean, I’ve got a _kid,_ Harvey.”

“She’s eighteen, she’ll be fine.”

“Sixteen,” he corrects.

“Whatever.” Harvey sighs impatiently, the sound accompanied by some faint shuffling and rustling. “Are you coming or not?”

“…What about your family?” Edward asks hesitantly.

“What about them?”

“Aren’t they home?” he elaborates.

“They are. But I’m not.”

Well, that adds a new layer to this already bizarre situation. “So where are _you?_ ”

“I’ll text you the address.”

Edward can’t believe he’s actually considering leaving his daughter home alone in the middle of the night to go to an undisclosed location and meet a man he barely knows. He’s an adult. He should know better than this.

“I’ll be there in a bit,” Edward mumbles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm making the executive decision that not all of the dads are going to get a second date. it's just............................ too many dads


	37. Chapter 37

The address Harvey sent Edward turned out to be an apartment building. And a nice one at that. Edward takes the elevator up to the second floor, making his way down the hall until he finds the apartment that matches the number Harvey provided. He knocks on the door.

Within moments, the door swings open and Harvey appears in the doorway. He looks awful—his good eye has a deep, dark circle beneath it, and he’s forgone the wig he usually wears for public appearances. What’s left of his real hair is mussed and sticking up in all directions.

“Hi,” Harvey says.

“Hey.” Edward peeks over his shoulder into the apartment. It’s relatively bare, with only the most necessary furniture and decorations. “Is this… Whose apartment is this?”

“Mine.” He retreats into the apartment, allowing Edward to follow after him. “I bought it a couple years back.” He flops down on the couch, motioning for Edward to join him. “Sometimes I just need to get away from the family, y’know?”

Edward sits gingerly on the edge of the sofa. He’s not sure whether he agrees with the sentiment or not. “It’s a nice place,” he says, deciding to try and keep things neutral.

“Yeah, it’d better be. It’s costing me a pretty penny.” He kicks his feet up onto the coffee table. “Do you want a drink or something?”

“I’m alright. Are you… doing okay?”

Harvey lets out a short, harsh laugh. “Just fucking peachy. My career is over, my wife hates me, and I’m fucking _hemorrhaging_ money to pay for my kid’s transition.” He rubs one of his temples with his thumb. “Things are going _great_.”

Edward has no idea what to say to that. “Which kid?” he asks lamely, for lack of anything more constructive.

“Sage. The boy.”

“Oh.” This is his area of expertise. He _should_ be able to offer some sage wisdom—pardon the pun—in this trying time. But his mind is completely blank. He’s never seen Harvey so… down before. “How’s that been for you?”

“Other than all the expenses, it hasn’t been too much of a problem.” He shrugs. “Sure, it’s… an adjustment. And I’m not the best when it comes to all that stuff. But, to be honest, I always kind of wanted a boy anyway.”

Edward feels a vague sense of relief wash over him. “You seem like a good dad,” he says softly.

Harvey scoffs. “Oh yeah. Really superb. Sneaking away from my kids in the middle of the night to come to my secret apartment? Just crown me dad of the year right now.”

“Hey, you’re not the only one who just snuck away from their kids,” Edward says with a slight roll of his eyes. “Speaking of which… why exactly am I here again?”

Harvey looks up, blinking slowly. “I wanted to see you,” he says simply. As if Edward should have already known that.

He feels his ears warm. There is no better feeling in the universe than being wanted. He wonders if Harvey knows that. If he said that on purpose, because he knew Edward would fall for it.

Would it matter?

“Well, you’ve seen me,” Edward says. “Now what?”

____

Edward awakes to a heavy arm draped over his waist. It’s not an altogether unpleasant sensation, though it has some regrettable implications. He wriggles his way out of Harvey’s grasp, moving to the edge of the bed. He reaches for his phone. Checks the time. His jaw practically hits the floor. _Eight fifteen?????_

He scrambles out of bed, snatching his pants off a nearby chair and hurrying to get dressed. Harvey stirs in bed behind him.

Edward scrolls a bit further down the lockscreen on his phone, his stomach dropping straight into his ass. Two missed calls and seventeen texts from Emma. “Fuck,” he mutters, patting down his pockets to see if he’s got everything.

“What’s up?” Harvey asks groggily, rolling over onto his back to watch Edward run around the room like a headless chicken.

“I overslept and now my daughter wants to know where I am,” he says quickly. “I’m sorry, I’ve got to go.”

“Do you want me to get you an Uber or something?” he asks, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“No, I drove here.” Edward pulls on his jacket, attempting to type a message to Emma at the same time. He’s less than successful, and the text is littered with typos, but she’s a smart kid. She’ll get the idea. He turns to Harvey. “I had a nice time, sorry to run out on you, goodbye,” he rattles off, his words running together.

“Um… yeah, me too.” He sits up in bed, giving Edward a small wave as he zips out of the room as quickly as possible. “Bye.”


	38. Chapter 38

“Where _were_ you?” Emma snaps, pacing around the living room. “I mean, I woke up and you were just _gone!_ ”

“I left a note,” Edward says sheepishly. It’s an interesting role reversal, being yelled at by his child. He won’t deny that he deserves it. He hasn’t done something so irresponsible in years—certainly not since he’s been a parent.

“Oh right, the _note_.” She snatches a piece of paper off the table, holding it up and clearing her throat in preparation for a dramatic reading. “‘Gone out for the night. Be back before breakfast.’ Last time I checked, eight thirty-five isn’t exactly ‘before breakfast’.”

“Look, I admit this isn’t one of my… best moments,” he says. He has no idea how he’s going to get himself out of this mess. “Things just got away from me, and—I don’t know. I’m sorry.” To be fair, he didn’t think she’d freak out like this. He sort of assumed she’d like having the house to herself for a couple hours.

Emma crumples the piece of paper into a ball, lobbing it directly at Edward’s chest. “I bet _Ben_ wouldn’t do this to me.”

The words hit him harder than the ball of paper. “Ben?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. “You haven’t seen him in _ten years!_ How can you know what he would or wouldn’t do?”

“Because I know _he_ loves me.”

In that moment, Edward stops feeling guilty about what he did. He can’t be bothered to feel bad for Emma if she’s going to talk to him like that. “If he loves you so much, then why isn’t he here?” he asks coldly.

In hindsight, Edward realizes that was probably crossing a line. He realizes that you can’t say things like that to a kid—especially not _your_ kid. But he’s not too proud to admit that it felt _really_ good to say it.

He doesn’t know what he expected Emma’s reaction to be. She could’ve yelled at him. She could’ve cried—though, she isn’t much of a crier in general. She could lock herself up in her room. It’s one of her favored responses to conflict.

But she doesn’t do any of those things. Instead, she goes over to the door. She slips on a pair of shoes from the shoe pile, grabs her jacket from the coatrack, and heads out the front door without so much as another word.

Edward sighs softly, slumping back against the couch. “God damn it,” he mutters.


	39. Chapter 39

Edward doesn’t go looking for Emma right away. He feels that she’s entitled to a little alone time. She’s more than welcome to get out of the house, dick around for a few hours, and cool down. He decides that if she’s not back in time for dinner, then he’ll be justified in freaking out.

Edward makes himself a bowl of macaroni and cheese from a box. He much prefers the real thing, but sometimes he feels himself craving that familiar, artificial powdered cheese flavor. He sits down on the couch to consume his breakfast—though, at this point it’s more of an early lunch.

His phone buzzes in his pocket. He takes it out. Checks his messages. Nothing from Emma, but he a text from Harvey sitting in his inbox.

‘Everything ok with your daughter?’

Edward scoops a spoonful of pasta into his mouth, typing out his reply with his other hand. ‘We had a fight. She walked out.’

‘Damn. Rip.’

Harvey doesn’t seem to be the best in difficult situations. ‘Yeah,’ Edward replies.

‘Sorry for making you late.’

‘It’s not your fault.’ While it _is_ Harvey’s fault that he was out of the house in the first place, it really isn’t his fault that Edward slept late. He only has himself to blame for that.

Harvey doesn’t respond to that. After about seven minutes of waiting, he puts his phone back in his pocket and returns to his macaroni.

___

Edward decides to get takeout for dinner. That way, if Emma doesn’t come home and he has to go out looking for her he won’t have gone through all the trouble of cooking for naught.

He goes to pick up the food at four thirty. It’s a barbecue place, one of Emma’s favorites. He gets their usual order, and then heads back out to the car.

And then he sees her.

Sitting in the window of an ice cream shop across the street, accompanied by two other people, is Emma. She’s sipping a milkshake and talking to her friends—at least, he assumes they’re her friends. She doesn’t look too upset, though she seems perhaps a bit more glum than usual. But she’s not crying. Which is good.

Then she looks up. And she sees him.

Edward waves to her. She waves back. It’s a small, shy motion. He’s never known her to be shy. He holds up the bag of food so she can see, giving a slight nod towards the car. An unspoken invitation.

She turns back to her friends. Says something he can’t hear. And she’s not facing him so he can’t read her lips. She finishes her milkshake and, after a few moments, gets up. Walks outside. Crosses the street and makes her way down the sidewalk to the car.

“Hey,” Emma says.

“Hi,” Edward says. “Hungry?”

“A little.” She eyes the bag. “What sides did you get?”

“Cornbread, baked beans, potato salad, and coleslaw.”

She nods her approval.

He unlocks the car, handing her the bag of food and walking around to the driver’s side door. “Come on,” he says. “Let’s go home.”


	40. Chapter 40

“And she walked out on you just like that?”

“Just like that,” Edward echoes, wrapping his hands around the warm coffee cup before him. “I found her, though. Brought her home.”

“And then what?” Victor asks eagerly. He’s been hanging on Edward’s every word for the past ten minutes or so, completely engrossed in his story.

“And then we had dinner.”

“But what happened _during_ dinner?” he prompts.

Edward shrugs. “We ate. Read the paper. Well, I read the paper, she read the comics. She sneezed three ti—”

“That’s not what I mean,” Victor interrupts. “I mean… what did you _say_ to her? What did she say to _you?_ ” He takes a sip of his drink—an herbal tea of some kind—pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “I want to know how you settled things.”

“Oh. I don’t know.” He sips his coffee, trying to recall any interesting details. “It just sort of… fizzled out.”

He raises an eyebrow. “‘Fizzled out’?”

“Y’know… If we just don’t talk for a while, things cool down and we stop being mad at each other.” It’s the way his parents handled things, it’s the way all his past relationships have gone, and now it’s the way he and Emma deal with each other. It’s just… normal.

Victor studies him for a few moments, continuing to take small drinks from his cup. “Let me ask you something,” he says after a while. He sets the cup down. “You remember what Emma said about your ex-partner, correct?”

“Of course.” How could he forget?

“And it upset you when she said it?”

“Obviously. What’s the point of all this?”

“She never apologized. And she never explained herself.”

Edward feels a lump rise in his throat. Oh. So _that’s_ what he’s getting at. “So?” he says casually, choosing to play dumb for a little while.

“So, I think you need to talk about things.” Victor continues to stare at him with unblinking blue eyes. It’s almost creepy. “There’s no way you can just be over something like that so quickly when neither of you have really… dealt with it.”

“I’m dealing with it,” he says quickly. “It’s fine. I know she didn’t mean it.” It’s not up to Victor to decide whether or not he’s parenting his child properly. What does he know, anyway?

“Edward,” Victor begins softly, “there’s obviously some kind of underlying issue here that needs to be discussed. You can’t just decide not to talk about it and assume that’s going to make it all better. You need to actually open a dialogue with your child.”

Edward sighs, the air hissing out slowly through his teeth. “She’s going to want to see him,” he mutters. “I know that if I talk to her about it… she’s going to say she wants to see him.”

“See who?”

“Ben.”

“Ah. Why is that a problem?”

He chews on his lower lip. “I just… I don’t get why she wants to,” he says lamely.

“It’s perfectly reasonable for her to want to see her father every so often.”

“But he’s _not_ her father!” Edward blurts out. “ _I’m_ her father! I’m the one that fucking raised her and pays for her and cares about her! He’s not—Why does she need to see him so badly?”

“Perhaps because you won’t let her,” Victor says simply.

Ah. Fuck. Maybe Victor has a point after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So tomorrow I'm getting on a plane in the morning and i'll probably be very busy all day so there won't be a chapter update. At the moment I have 3 chapters pre-written (maybe I'll have a 4th by the end of the day) so I'm planning to post on Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday (assuming everything goes as plan). I don't know if I'll have time to actually write on those days, so chapters might slow a little after that while I play catch up, but we'll see what happens. 
> 
> Thanks!


	41. Chapter 41

“I need to talk to you.”

“Uh-oh,” Emma says, closing her computer. “That’s never good.”

“You’re not in trouble,” Edward clarifies. He steps out of the doorway to lean against Emma’s bedroom wall. “I just… wanted to suggest something.”

“Is this a college related thing?”

“No.”

“Okay. Go ahead.”

He rolls his eyes. It’s so funny how she thinks _she’s_ the one who can give _him_ permission to speak. “So you have a break coming up. You’ll be out of school for a little while.”

This time, Emma is the one who rolls her eyes. “I know what a break is, Dad.”

“I was thinking,” he continues, ignoring the comment, “that you might like to spend some time with your… with Ben. Over the break.”

Her eyes widen slightly but, otherwise, her face remains expressionless. “Really?” she asks, a hint of hesitation in her voice.

He nods. “I called him the other day. Talked it over. He’s fine with you staying over for a few days, and he’s close enough that I can pick you up if—if anything happens.”

Emma frowns, keeping her eyes fixed on Edward’s face. “What’s the catch?” she asks warily.

“No catch. I just… It seemed like you might want to see him.” He clears his throat quietly. “Obviously, it’s up to you. But I thought I’d give you the option.” He rubs the back of his neck, wanting nothing more than to leave the room. This whole thing is making him incredibly anxious. Borderline uncomfortable, really. “Think it over,” he says and, without further ado, he ducks out of the room and quickly heads back downstairs.

He genuinely hopes he’s doing the right thing for her.


	42. Chapter 42

Edward sits delicately on the edge of the couch, his tablet held loosely in one hand. He’s not using it. He’s not even looking at it. He’s so fixated on his view of the driveway through the window that he can’t even think of focusing on anything else.

Emma is upstairs packing for her little trip. She seems excited to see Ben after so many years. Edward isn’t sure how he feels about that.

But he’s trying to be a good dad. And if this is what it takes, then he’s willing to give it a shot.

The doorbell rings.

Fuck.

Slowly, Edward gets up from the couch. He sets his tablet down on the coffee table. Makes his way to the front door. And then he opens it.

“Hey,” Ben says.

“Hi,” Edward says.

Ben puts his arm out, though it’s unclear whether he’s going for a hug or a handshake. In the end, he just wraps his arm loosely around Edward’s shoulders, patting him on the back. It is quite possibly the most awkward thing Edward has ever experienced.

“How’ve you been?” he asks, pulling away from Ben.

“Ah, y’know,” he says, despite the fact that Edward absolutely does not know. “Just living life. How about you?”

God, that was the worst, most useless possible answer to his question. “I’ve been doing okay. New job, new house. Meeting new people.” Admittedly, his answer wasn’t much better but at least it was more informative.

“Oh yeah?” Ben asks. “Are you seeing anyone?”

“Oh… you know…” He clears his throat quietly. “Nothing serious. Just… playing the field, mostly.” Do real people actually say ‘playing the field’? If they do, they’re probably douchebags. “What about you?”

 “I’m sort of doing the whole dating app thing right now.”

“Oh. How’s that going for you?”

He shrugs. “I do alright.”

This conversation has taken an uncomfortable turn. “I’m going to… go get Emma. She’s been looking forward to seeing you.”

“Yeah, likewise. She always was a great kid.”

Right, she was _so_ great for the six years he knew her. “Yeah. Just terrific.” He takes a few steps toward the stairs. “Emma!” he calls. “Ben is here!”

“Coming!” Her reply is followed by the frantic sound of zippers closing and, a few moments later, Emma appears at the top of the stairs with her backpack and duffel bag. She hurries down the stairs, entering the living room and coming to face Ben. “Hi,” she says, giving a small wave. If Edward didn’t know any better, he’d say she was feeling a bit shy.

“Hey kiddo,” Ben says brightly. “Jeez, you’ve gotten so big since the last time I saw you. Keep growing at that rate and you could be a WNBA player in a couple years.” He nudges her shoulder playfully.

Emma grins up at him. “I don’t know, my doctor says I’m probably done growing.”

“Hey, you never know.” He gestures toward the duffel. “You want me to take that off your hands?”

“Oh. Sure.” She passes him the bag.

Ben glances at Edward. “I’ll go put this in the car. Just send her on out when she’s ready.”

“Sure.” He watches Ben exit the house for a moment before turning to Emma. “Be good. Don’t do anything stupid just because I’m not around to scold you. Try to be in bed before midnight. Eat a vegetable every once in a while.”

“Dad, I’m only going to be gone for a couple days,” she says, rolling her eyes. “I’ll be fine. And I’m sure Ben will be perfectly responsible.”

Edward isn’t quite as optimistic as she seems to be. “Just promise me if he’s smoking again you’ll make him go outside. I will _not_ have you getting asthma or lung cancer from that man’s secondhand smoke.”

“I promise.”

“Okay.” He presses a quick kiss to her forehead, patting her on the shoulder as he pulls away. “Love you. Text me when you get there.”

“I will. Love you too.” And just like that, she’s out the door and getting into Ben’s car. She waves to him through the windshield as Ben pulls out of the driveway and onto the street.

And then she’s gone.


	43. Chapter 43

Edward decides to take advantage of the fact that Emma is out of the house and have a nice night out. So he gets in the car, and he pulls onto the main road. And then he realizes that he has no idea where he’s going.

He’s already had dinner, so getting food isn’t really appealing. He could go to a bar or something. But he’s by himself and he doesn’t drink, so there isn’t much point in that. He’s never been good at coming up with things to do, especially when he’s alone. Maybe he should just turn around and go home.

Edward passes the entrance for a botanical garden. Through the dark, he can make out the silhouettes of people. It seems like the garden is still open, despite the late hour. It might be fun to… look at plants.

Truthfully, he doesn’t understand the appeal of gardens but he doesn’t have a better idea so he decides to just go for it. He pulls into the parking lot and heads for the entrance to the garden.

There’s a small, paved path illuminated by rows of lamps. He follows it into the center of the garden, pausing every so often to look at flowers or small trees. In the midst of the area is a small stream with a gazebo overlooking it. He takes a seat in the gazebo, watching the water flow steadily through the garden.

Edward supposes it’s sort of peaceful.

But it’s also sort of boring.

He’s about to get up and leave, when a flash of red catches his eye. He looks up. He can make out the vague shape of a woman standing about a yard away. She’s bent over a patch of flowers, inspecting them quite closely. Her red hair stands out against the darkness of their surroundings, shining faintly in the dim lamplight.

There’s something very… familiar about her.

As he’s pondering where he could know this mystery woman from, she straightens up. She turns away from the flowers, seemingly with the intent of looking at something else. And then she sees him.

Edward feels the color drain out of his face. It’s Pamela. Harvey’s wife. And she’s coming towards him.

Oh fuck.

“Edward, isn’t it?” she asks upon entering the gazebo.

“Last time I checked.” This whole thing is making him intensely uncomfortable. “And you’re Pamela.”

She nods. Sits down beside him. “You and my husband have become quite… close, haven’t you?”

“I wouldn’t say that,” he says quickly. “We’re friends, I suppose, but I don’t really know him that well.”

“Hm,” she murmurs. “That’s not the impression I got from him.”

 “And what impression did you get from him?” he asks, not quite sure he wants to know the answer.

“I got the impression that you knew him rather… intimately.”

Oh God, she fucking knows. What does he do now? “I’m not sure what you’re—”

“I know you fucked my husband, Edward.”

He should’ve just sucked it up and gone to a bar. Then he wouldn’t be in this situation. “I mean, if we’re being technical about it, it’s more like he f—”

“You talk too much,” Pamela says, her tone deadpan.

“I know. It’s a habit. Are you going to—what are you going to do to me?” Edward asks. He’s never been a homewrecker before. He doesn’t really know what the protocol is.

She frowns. “Why would I do anything to you?”

“B-because I—” Edward stammers, “—well, like you said, I fucked your husband.”

Pamela scoffs, waving her hand dismissively. “At this point, who _hasn’t?_ ”

Edward did not at all expect her to say that. “…What?”

She scoffs again, this time developing into a short chuckle. “Oh, you’re adorable. Did you think you were special? Did you actually think Harvey has only ever cheated on me with you?” She shakes her head, feigning disappointment. “That man will screw anything that moves. And he thinks I don’t know! He thinks he’s _so_ sneaky and slick with his little secret apartment—as if I _don’t_ notice an entirely new rent bill every month.”

“So why don’t you two just get a divorce?” Edward asks, still taken aback by this revelation . “I mean you don’t even seem to… like each other.”

“Oh we most certainly don’t,” she says matter-of-factly. “Not anymore, at least. But—well, we’ve got kids. And the arrangement we have now works. He has his little trysts, I have mine, everyone’s happy.”

“Harvey doesn’t seem to be all that happy,” Edward mutters.

Pamela gives Edward a cold look from the corner of her eye. “He only has himself to blame for that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not sure if there'll be a chapter tomorrow. i have one like half written but i'm super busy today (and probably tomorrow too) so idk if i'll have time to finish it until late on friday or sometime saturday


	44. Chapter 44

“Hey.”

Edward looks up from the mocha he’s been nursing for the past half hour. “Hey,” he says. “Nice to see you.”

“Yeah.” Jonathan peers down at Edward over the top of his glasses, his gaze betraying no emotion. “How’ve you been?” The words are stilted and mechanical, almost like he’s just going through the motions of a conversation.

“Fine. I’ve had a lot of free time lately.”

“Oh yeah?”

He nods. “Emma’s away for a little while, so I’ve got the house to myself.”

“Must be nice,” Jonathan says.

“It’s alright.” He raises the paper coffee cup to his lips. It’s weird being alone in the house after so many years of having Emma around. It almost pains him to think that in a couple years it’ll be like that all the time. Christ.

He nods, taking a sip of his own unidentifiable drink. “So,” he says casually, “I heard you slept with Harvey Dent.”

Edward nearly chokes on his drink. “Wha—who told you that?” he splutters, reaching for a napkin to dab away a small drip of coffee that, embarrassingly, is dribbling down his lower lip.

“Pamela.” Jonathan shrugs. “We talk.”

Edward wants nothing more than to crawl in a hole and die. “Do you know if… if other people know?”

He thinks for a moment, taking another sip of his drink. “Probably not,” he decides. “No one that knows you, anyway.”

Great. Just wonderful. This will be his legacy in this godforsaken neighborhood. “Please don’t tell anyone,” he says quietly. “It was one time, I didn’t even _mean_ to, I just—”

“I have no intention of telling anyone,” Jonathan interrupts. “I’m not one to gossip.”

Edward sincerely hopes that’s true. “And _why_ did you feel the need to tell me that you know this humiliating fact about me in the middle of a coffee shop?”

He casts a quick glance around the room, as if having forgotten that they are, in fact, in a coffee shop. “I don’t know,” he says after a moment. “I just thought… it’d be better to get it out of the way.”

He sighs, looking forlornly down at his coffee. “I’m such an idiot,” he mumbles. “I don’t know why—I _never_ do things like that, and I’m not—”

Jonathan clears his throat pointedly, bringing a halt to Edward’s train of thought. “Let’s take a walk,” he suggests with a slight nod toward the door.


	45. Chapter 45

There’s something about Jonathan that encourages Edward to confide in him. He can’t quite put his finger on what it is, but during their little walk he finds himself strangely compelled to speak freely and honestly about… well, about the utter shitshow that is his life.

He doesn’t understand why he feels so _comfortable_ around Jonathan. It’s like catching up with an old friend, despite the fact that they barely know each other.

“I don’t even think I really… felt anything for him until he expressed interest in me,” Edward murmurs. “I mean, I thought we were just friends up until I was… having sex with him.”

Jonathan seems to ponder this for a moment. Edward has noticed he has a tendency to take his time before speaking. It’s very interesting to watch him think. “Are you someone that enjoys attention?” he asks, as if testing out a hypothesis.

“Well, who doesn’t?”

“Plenty of people. Though, based on your answer I assume you’re not one of them.”

He feels his cheeks flush. “I like attention as much as the next guy,” he says nonchalantly.

“Then perhaps Harvey’s attention is what’s attractive to you, rather than anything specific about him.”

Edward grimaces. That feels a little too correct for comfort. He changes the subject. “Maybe I need to date more. Perhaps if I have more viable options I won’t have to hop into bed with the first man that shows me the slightest bit of interest.”

“Perhaps. Or maybe you’ll just end up sleeping with even more people.” Jonathan’s tone is joking but his expression remains fairly neutral. “Which isn’t really an issue. Unless they’re married, I suppose.”

“Very funny,” he mutters. “Christ. Of all the guys in the neighborhood, I had to choose the _only_ married one.”

“You sure know how to pick them,” Jonathan agrees. “But there’s no point beating yourself up over it now. It’s over and, as long as you don’t keep doing it, everything will probably be fine. Besides, their marriage is a goddamn train wreck all on its own. The damage has already been done.”

“Well, I’m certainly not doing anything to help.” Edward sighs, massaging his temples with his index fingers. “Do you think I’m a bad person?”

“In general, or because of the homewrecking thing?” Jonathan asks absently.

“Mostly the homewrecking thing, but I’m interested in hearing your answer to the former.”

“Well, in general I’m not sure.” Jonathan finishes off his coffee, depositing the empty cup in a nearby trash can. “For all I know you could be a serial killer, or a rapist, or an abuser, or any number of equally awful things.”

Glad to hear Jonathan has so much faith in him.

“But,” he continues, “I don’t think sleeping with someone’s husband makes you a bad person. Maybe a stupid, reckless person. And maybe a bit of an asshole. But not a bad person.”

“Well, that’s good. I think.”

Jonathan gives Edward a firm, if awkward, pat on the shoulder. “It could be worse. You could be the one cheating on your spouse.”

In a weird way, that kind of makes him feel better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i finally have some free time again so hopefully i'll be able to bang out some chapters for this fic over the weekend


	46. Chapter 46

“So… how are things going up there?”

“Fine,” Emma says. It’s a slightly more chipper ‘fine’ than her neutral ‘fine’, so Edward assumes that means good. “Ben’s a good cook.”

“Better than me?” Edward teases, feeling a bit stung despite himself. He adjusts the phone against his ear.

“Well, he makes better breakfasts.”

“You don’t even eat breakfast most days.” Why should he put the effort into making a nice, fancy breakfast if she’s just going to take two bites and run out of the house?

“Maybe I would eat breakfast if you made breakfast like Ben.” Her tone doesn’t indicate malicious intent, but it certainly isn’t the nicest thing Emma has ever said to him. “He makes really good eggs.”

“Maybe you should get his recipe and then you can make yourself eggs for breakfast.”

“Yeah, maybe I will.”

Edward stifles a scoff. As if she’s going to suddenly start making her own meals after one stay at Ben’s house. That girl can barely boil water, let alone make _eggs._

“So what have you been up to?” Emma asks, her voice accompanied by the slight crackle of static through the speaker.

“Oh, nothing much. Work and… stuff,” he says lamely. “I went to a botanical garden the other day.”

“What on Earth possessed you to do such a thing?” comes her incredulous reply. “You don’t even like plants.”

“I like plants. I just don’t like dirt,” he corrects. “I don’t know, I was bored. I felt like I should get out of the house.”

“Wow, I’m gone for two days and you’re already going stir crazy.” Emma clicks her tongue disapprovingly. “I really am the only thing holding this family together.”

“Uh huh,” Edward says dryly. “That and my income, my housework, and my ability to nurture.”

“Yeah, but those things are kind of secondary.”

He shouldn’t have raised her to be so sarcastic. “Well, tell Ben I said hi, I guess.”

“Do you want to talk to him?” she offers. “He’s just in the other room.”

“No,” Edward says a little too quickly. “That’s alright. I have a… thing I need to do. Just give him my best.”

“Sure.”

“I love you,” he adds.

“Love you too,” she says. It’s half mumbled, as if she’s embarrassed to say it. Edward supposes she’s still at the age where it’s not cool to love your parents. “Bye.”

“Talk to you later.”


	47. Chapter 47

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I posted about this on my tumblr but I'm probably going to do updates every other day. I've been super busy lately and by the time I get a chance to write I don't have the energy to finish a whole chapter, so I can't keep up with daily updates like I used to. Thanks for your patience!

“How long until she comes home?”

“Two days.” Edward passes Victor a mug of tea and a small plate of oyster crackers—Emma’s going through a phase where she really likes oyster crackers for some reason, so the house is full of them. “And then I never have to see or interact with Ben ever again.”

“At least until the next time Emma wants to visit him,” Victor points out, taking a sip of his tea.

Edward, currently refusing to accept the very real possibility that Emma may want to see Ben in the future, says nothing. He sits down with his own mug of tea, pulling his feet up to sit cross legged on the sofa. “I feel like we always talk about me,” he says, changing the subject. “How have you been? How’s Oliver?”

He seems to sober a bit at the question. “Oliver is… he’s been a bit difficult lately. Staying out late, skipping classes, that sort of thing.”

He frowns. “That doesn’t seem like him at all.”

“He’s not usually like this,” Victor agrees. “But—I mean, he’s still grieving. So, while I’m not exactly pleased with his behavior… I get it.”

“Grieving?”

“My wife… passed recently.” He clears his throat softly. “It’s been hard on him. On us.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Edward murmurs. “I can’t even imagine what that must be like.” He’s never actually had to deal with real grief. He’s only ever lost people he doesn’t like, so the mourning process is pretty straightforward.

 “We’re handling it,” Victor says, his tone clipped. “I go to therapy. A lot. Oliver goes too, but he refuses to actually speak during the sessions, so it’s a total waste of money. As if I don’t have enough expenses to manage now that we’ve lost the second income.” He sighs, taking his glasses off and wiping them on his sleeve. “But we’re handling it.”

“You know, if you ever need to… talk about things, I’m here for you.” Hesitantly, he lifts his hand to place it over Victor’s. Trails his thumb across the back of his knuckles. “Anything you need.”

Victor raises his head slightly, pale blue eyes peering into Edward’s green ones. Edward notices for the first time how tired he looks. Without his glasses, Edward can see the dark circles beneath Victor’s eyes.

He can see how sad Victor looks.

“Thank you,” Victor says softly. And then he does something very strange. Something entirely unexpected. He leans forward, places a hand on Edward’s knee to steady himself, and kisses him.

And Edward lets him.


	48. Chapter 48

“I should go.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I know.” Victor pushes his glasses up on the bridge of his nose, shifting awkwardly to the edge of the couch. “But I think I should.”

“Okay.” Edward smoothes his hair down with the palm of his hand. Crosses his ankles. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No,” he murmurs. “I just—it’s a little too soon, you know?” He glances at Edward from the corner of his eye. “I’m sorry.”

“No, I understand.” He wants to ask Victor why he made out with him for half an hour if it’s ‘too soon’. But he decides that’s probably in poor taste, considering the whole… dead wife thing. “Are we still… okay?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

Edward has come to realize that ‘yeah, sure’ is never the answer he wants to hear.

Victor gathers his things and makes his quick and quiet exit from the house, waving a shy goodbye to Edward as he slips out the front door.

Edward collects the dishes from the coffee table. He brings them into the kitchen, leaving them on the counter beside the sink. He doesn’t feel like cleaning up properly right now. He goes upstairs to his room. Crawls into bed.

Of course he understands Victor’s situation, and he respects the choice he made. That’s not really the reason he’s upset. He just wishes he could find a nice, normal guy who isn’t married or in mourning or wildly irresponsible. Is that too much to ask?

Edward sighs, burying his head beneath one of his pillows. If only he could figure out how to attract anyone besides the most unavailable men in the city.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a little short one today.   
> they didn't fuck btw in case anyone was wondering


	49. Chapter 49

“Did you have fun with Ben?” Edward asks, spearing a piece of pasta with his fork.

Emma nods, shoveling food into her mouth. “He’s really cool,” she mumbles around a mouthful of half chewed pasta. “And he said I can come back for winter break if I want.”

“Oh yeah?” he asks, his voice strained. “That’s interesting, considering he didn’t at all mention that to me or ask me if that was okay before just deciding—” He cuts himself off with a sigh. He doesn’t want to get into this right now. “Do you think you’re going to want to go back?” he asks instead.

“I was thinking about it,” she says carefully. “But… I mean, if you don’t want me to…”

“No, it’s not that I don’t want you to,” Edward says, despite the fact that he _really_ doesn’t want her to, “I just… wasn’t really anticipating this becoming a regular thing.”

“Well, I mean he _is_ my dad.”

“Only in the most technical sense of the word,” he points out.

Emma gives him a look. “Why do you hate him so much?” she asks slowly.

“I-I don’t hate him,” Edward splutters. He stabs at his pasta absently. “I just don’t—”

“You just don’t like him at all and don’t want me to see him ever again,” she finishes.

She really has him pegged. “Look, I understand that you want to get to know him better. And that’s fine. But I just don’t want you to be disappointed when it turns out he’s not the perfect second father figure you always dreamed of.”

“I don’t see why you just assume he’s not good enough to be my dad too,” Emma snaps. “Like you’re _so_ perfect.”

“Emma, the whole reason we split up was because he wasn’t good enough to be a dad!” he exclaims. “He’s irresponsible and reckless and selfish and, sure, he’s fun and cute and he makes good eggs, but that doesn’t make him a good parent!”

“But that was _ten years ago!_ ” She sets her fork down with a clatter. “He’s different now!”

“I have seen no evidence of that.”

“Yeah, because you don’t want to be in a room with him for more than ten seconds,” Emma grumbles.

“ _You_ wanted to transfer schools when that boy you dated for _two months_ broke up with you in ninth grade,” Edward snaps. “So I think I’m perfectly justified in not wanting to spend a ton of time with my ex who I was with for _years_.”

“But he’s my dad!”

“ _I’m_ your dad!” He hisses out a breath from between his teeth, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his palm. “For the six years he lived with us, he barely did anything to raise you. So I don’t… understand why you feel such a strong connection to this man who was barely even a parent to you.”

“What are you talking about?” she asks incredulously. “It’s not like I have some profound bond with this guy. I just want to get to know him because he’s my fucking father.”

“Language,” Edward says automatically.

“Ben lets me swear.”

Edward resists the urge to claw his own eyeballs out of his skull. “I’m not having this argument with you. I’ll talk to Ben and we will discuss whether or not you should stay with him over winter break. Now finish your dinner and stop fighting me on this.”

Emma opens her mouth to say something, but chooses instead to just stab her pasta aggressively with her fork.

So that went _super_ well.


	50. Chapter 50

“Is she still upset with you?”

“Of course she is,” Edward grumbles, stirring a small cup of clam chowder with a spoon. He watches the lumps of potato bob in the thick soup. “She’s always mad at me these days.” He heaves a sigh, slumping back in his seat. “Do you think I’m a bad father?”

 “No,” Oswald says quickly, “of course not. But…”

Edward rolls his eyes. Of course there had to be a ‘but’.

“…You _are_ sort of overreacting, don’t you think?”

“Since when is not wanting my daughter to be negatively influenced by my deadbeat ex ‘overreacting’?” he snaps, setting down his spoon. It sinks into the chowder with a small plop.

“Oh, come on,” Oswald says, waving the question away. “He’s not a deadbeat. He’s got a job and a house and he seems pretty stable. Who knows, maybe the new and improved Ben would make a great dad.”

“Christ, please don’t say things like that,” Edward mutters, rubbing his temples.

He rolls his eyes. “I don’t see what you’re so worried about. It’s not like if you let Emma see him a couple times a year he’ll adopt her and snatch her right out of your life.”

“I know that,” he mumbles sheepishly.

“So stop freaking out about it.” Oswald reaches across the table, patting Edward’s hand with his own. “There’s plenty of her to go around, and your ex—deadbeat or not—isn’t going to poison her against you. Relax.”

“I haven’t been relaxed in thirty years.”

“Well, there’s no time like the present.” Oswald regards Edward from across the table. “Let me take you out this weekend,” he suggests after a few moments. “Take your mind off all this shit.”

“I don’t know,” Edward says hesitantly. “I shouldn’t—”

“It’ll be fun,” he coaxes. “We could get dinner, or drinks, or stay in. Whatever you like. Please?”

Edward sighs. He supposes one night out couldn’t hurt.


	51. Chapter 51

“Edward? Are you listening to me?”

Edward, who was admittedly not listening at all, looks up from the glass of water he’s been absently stirring with a straw for the past few minutes. “Sorry. Must’ve spaced out.”

Oswald gives him a look that’s somewhere between concern and disappointment. “You’re not enjoying this at all, are you?” he says, sounding a touch crestfallen.

He hates to admit that Oswald is right. He isn’t enjoying this. Not because he isn’t enjoying Oswald’s company, or because the location is unpleasant—though he’s not the biggest fan of bars, no matter how upscale they are. But for some reason, he just can’t manage to… have a good time. Like the part of his brain that controls his ability to have fun and enjoy social activities has been switched off. “I’m having a nice time,” he says listlessly. It’s not at all convincing.

Oswald sighs, taking a sip of his own drink—something classic and tasteful. “We can leave if you like. Go somewhere else? Or… I can just take you home if you prefer.”

“No,” Edward says quickly. “I don’t—I’m sorry. I was actually looking forward to getting to see you tonight, but I just can’t… I don’t think I’m in the right headspace to properly appreciate your presence.”

“You can just say you’re not in the mood to see me,” Oswald says dryly.

“But that’s not what I’m _trying_ to say.” He can’t tell if he’s frustrated with himself for being unable to articulate his feelings, or if he’s frustrated with Oswald for not understanding. Either way, he’s frustrated. “I’m just—I’m depressed! And my stupid brain won’t let me have a nice time with you. And I wish I could just be normal and enjoy myself, but I just—I don’t know. I can’t do that, apparently.” He huffs out a sigh, slumping back in his seat. “I’m sorry.”

“…Is everything okay?” Oswald asks after a moment.

“I don’t know. Probably not. But what difference does it make?”

“It makes a difference,” he says. “Is this about Ben?”

“No.”

“Then what’s going on?”

“I don’t know,” Edward says, growing exasperated. “I just… feel like shit sometimes.  About the way that I am or the things that I do and—and I have to just deal with it. And maybe I’m not doing a good job of dealing with it right now.”

Oswald gives Edward a look and then, in one swift motion, finishes off his drink and sets the glass firmly on the table. “Let’s get out of here. Go somewhere a little more… private.”

“Are you sure you still want to put up with me for the rest of the evening?” Edward mutters.

“Positive. Let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I originally wanted this chapter and the next part to be combined into one chapter, but it was taking me too long to finish it and i wanted to put an update out.


	52. Chapter 52

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for being so inactive lately, both here and on tumblr. I've been super busy and my mental/physical health have really been giving me a hard time and I just. Haven't been able to sit down and write anything. But here's this.

“Do you smoke? I always forget.”

Edward shakes his head. “Not since high school.”

“Mm. That’s probably for the best.” Oswald lights a cigarette, holding it gingerly between two fingers. It’s the first time Edward has seen him smoke without the extender. “So. Do you want to tell me what’s going on?”

“There’s not really anything going on,” he mutters. “I just… I don’t feel good. And I don’t know why.”

“How often does this usually happen?”

“More often than I’d like.” Edward eyes the cigarette in Oswald’s hand, watching the smoke waft up toward the ceiling. “Is Martin home?”

“He’s on a school trip this weekend,” he says, exhaling a mouthful of smoke. “One of those things where they take them out to the coast to teach them about nature and they all go looking for slugs or something.” He shrugs. “Seemed like fun.”

“That’s nice.” Edward could never afford to go on those kinds of trips, and it’s not like his father would have signed a permission slip anyway. “What grade is he in?”

“Fifth. Are you changing the subject on purpose?”

“Perhaps.” He clasps his hands tightly in his lap, fingernails digging into the backs of his palms. “It’s just… hard. Sometimes.” He bites the inside of his cheek. “I wish I could be better than I am,” he says softly, his voice dangerously close to breaking. “But I don’t know how.”

“What do you mean better?” Oswald asks, tapping a piece of ash off the end of the cigarette and into the ashtray.

“I don’t know. A better father. Better person. Nicer, more fun, more normal.” He shrugs loosely. “Emma deserves better than me.”

“Don’t say that,” he chides. “The fact that you’re worried at all about being good enough for her shows that you’re a good father.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works.”

Oswald shakes his head. “Bad people don’t waste energy worrying about being good. They already think they are.” He leans forward, stubbing out the cigarette. “That’s what makes them so awful. No desire for self improvement. It really is a travesty, if you ask me.”

“But if I could just—there has to be a reason she likes Ben more than me. There has to be something I’m doing wrong.” Edward chews on the tip of his thumb. He avoids Oswald’s gaze. Avoids breathing in the lingering scent of smoke.

“She just likes him because he’s something different. She’s spent her whole life with you, can you blame her for being easily distracted by a shiny new dad-shaped toy?”

“No, I suppose not, but—”

“Edward,” he murmurs, reaching out to place his hand atop Edward’s. “You’re doing better than you think you are. I promise.” He tilts his head slightly, delivering a quick kiss to Edward’s cheek. “This whole thing will blow over in a week. Two at most.”

“Do you think so?” Edward mumbles.

“I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t.”


End file.
